


Things Change.

by madiv951



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Derek is a great friend, Derek is actually happy now, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I suck at tagging, M/M, Military, Minor Character Death, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Violence, War, like hardcore, lydia/stiles friendship, pack snuggles, soldier!Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madiv951/pseuds/madiv951
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles looses sleep at night thinking about how he and the Sheriff are going to afford putting him through college on the measly government paycheck his dad is currently getting. He talks to Jordon about his worries after dropping dinner off for his dad at the station. Jordon suggests something that hadn't occurred to Stiles.</p><p>Join the military.</p><p>So that's what Stiles does. He figures he'll put in a few years in the reserves and get his college education paid for. It's a pretty solid plan until Stiles realizes something. He loves being in the military. Loves the control it gives him over his life. And when a colonel approaches him about becoming a training officer on base, how can Stiles say no? </p><p> </p><p>****There is some PTSD from being in war in this story. If this might trigger you, please don't read it!!! Stay safe, lovelies!****</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Change.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty guys. Before you start reading, I need to let you all know that I have no experience being in the military. My descriptions of boot camp are from what friends have told me and what I've learned from movies.I realize that Stiles advancing through the ranks in such a short time is highly unrealistic, but I manipulated the system to fit where I wanted the story to go. 
> 
> And also, please be careful reading this if you are ex-military and have any sort of PTSD. There are descriptions of war and POW situations and the last thing I want is to trigger anyone. As far as Stiles going through PTSD, I used stories from my uncle who spent two tours in Afghanistan. So, no, I don't understand what is is like to go through something like that, but I tried to do my uncle justice by portraying the stories as he told them to me. 
> 
> If I got anything glaringly wrong about the military aspects of this story and it offends anyone, please please please, comment and let me know so I can edit accordingly. Thank you lovelies for even clicking the link to this story! Smooches for all!

            Figuring out what you are going to do with your life after high school is supposed to be an adventure. It is supposed to get you excited about what your future holds. It is supposed to make you want to be something more someday, to learn more than you have up to this point. It isn’t supposed to inflict this bone-crushing fear that you and your dad won’t be able to pay for a college education with his government job that can barely pay for your house.

            That it why Stiles is awake, staring at his ceiling, at three in the morning on most school nights. The nausea-inducing thought that he won’t be able to get a college education keeps him from sleep. Stiles doesn’t have insanely rich parents and an amazing IQ like Lydia does. He doesn’t have a dad with a shiny FBI badge that is trying to make up for years of absence like Scott does. No, he just has his dad. Plus, with the grades he has managed to pull the past couple years, he’ll be lucky if he gets any academic-based financial aid. As usual, the sheriff tells him not to worry about it. That they will figure something out, just like they’ve always done.

            But Stiles does worry. He worries a lot.

            One night, after bringing his dad dinner, Stiles finds himself voicing all of his worries to Parrish.

            “I just don’t know how in the hell we are going to pay for anything. My dad is barely keeping our house, barely paying bills. I’m pretty sure he skips lunch most days because he puts the money for that in a jar that says ‘savings’ on it. That he doesn’t skip lunch because he is so busy like he always tells me. I know I am only 18 and I shouldn’t be worrying about this, but I am fucking terrified.” Parrish places a hand on his shoulder as Stiles runs his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time.

            “I had the same problem when I graduated high school. It was just me and my mom growing up. My dad bailed when I was seven. So, you know what I did? I joined the army. They had me put in a few years of training and sent me overseas for a few months. By the time I got back, I had a paid-for college education waiting for me. I could get the contact info for my old recruiter, if you want? You should consider it.”

 

            And Stiles does. He doesn’t tell anyone when he goes to meet with Parrish’s recruiter the first time. That doesn’t mean he is absolutely terrified of what his dad and friends might say when he tells them his plan. It doesn’t. Honest. He isn’t scared of what they will think. Oh god, what if Scott gives him the puppy eyes? Shit. When Stiles walks into the office, the guy waiting for him doesn’t look like an army recruiter. He has on a soft-looking blue polo and a nice pair of jeans. His hair is on the short side of shaggy and he has a bright smile. The recruiter asks Stiles a lot of questions that Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t answer right, but gets a clap on the shoulder as he leaves the office.

            A few weeks later and a month before graduation, a letter arrives in the mail that tells Stiles he is expected to be at the army base in San Diego at the beginning of July. His hands shake as he takes the letter to where his dad is watching some football game on TV. John smiles at him and takes in how worried his son looks.

            “Stiles, what is it? Is there something I need to start thinking of ways to cover up?” Stiles rolls his eyes. His dad, ever the optimist.

            “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I actually think that you will be proud of me.” Stiles shoves the piece of paper into his dad’s hands and waits to see the reaction. A range of emotions flit across his father’s face until it settles on concerned.

            “When did you decide to do this? I thought that you had decided that you were going to go to Berkley for forensics...” John scrubs a hand over his face, clearly distraught over Stiles decision.

            “I have decided that. And I am still going to do that. It’s just being put off for a few years.” John looks as though he is about to interrupt, but Stiles holds up a hand to stop him. “Look dad, I know that you have told me not to worry about paying for college. But I see the bills stacked up on the table. I know that your job doesn’t pay much, that you do it because you love it. You told me that we would find a way. So, that’s what I did. I found a way. When have you ever known me to not have a plan?”

            “God help me, but I think this might actually be good for you. I know things have been crazy lately. With the whole nogitsune thing…” Stiles doesn’t miss the way that his father shudders at the word still. “And loosing Allison and everything else… Maybe some structure will be good for you. Get that ADD handled…” He claps Stiles on the shoulder and they both huff out a laugh. “Have you told the pack yet?

            Something tight forms in Stiles chest at the thought of what Scott will say… He hadn’t even thought about what his best friend would say. How could he have overlooked that?

            “I haven’t… But I probably should if I am supposed to leave a month after graduation…” His dad hugs him tightly, in the same way that he did when Jennifer was finally killed, when the nogitsune was finally rid of. Stiles feels a scratching at the back of his throat, so he shoves away and walks out the door, with the pretense of heading to Scott’s.

 

            Stiles doesn’t end up at Scott’s. Instead, he finds himself in the parking lot of Derek’s apartment building. The letter is still crumpled in his fist when he knocks on the door. A muffled ‘come in’ floats into the hall and Stiles slides the large door open. Derek is lounging on the bed in the corner in comfy-looking sweats and a v-neck sweater. Stiles stops, briefly thrown by how comfortable and at-home Derek looks. He looks up from the thick volume in his hands and a mildly annoyed look takes over his features.

            “What do you want Stiles?” Stiles doesn’t miss the way Derek makes sure to mark his place in his book, before putting it in the drawer of the bedside table. It makes him snicker before Derek glares at him and he chokes it back.

            “I kind of have something to talk to you about?” Derek raises an eyebrow and moves to the kitchenette. The paper of the letter is still crumpled in his fist.

            “Stiles, you reek of anxiety. What’s up with you?” Stiles hops up onto the counter and it is a testament to his and Derek’s growing friendship that Derek does nothing but glare at him. Derek gets out two mugs and digs around in his cupboards for the tea he knows Stiles likes. After handing a mug to Stiles, he leans against the counter and nudges Stiles’ knee with his elbow, prompting him to explain.

            “Well… Uh, you know how I told everyone that I was going to go to Berkley for forensics come fall?” Derek nods, takes a sip of his tea. “I’m not doing that…” Derek quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing. “Being the Sheriff of a small town doesn’t pay much and with the medical bills and stuff from the… nogitsune… we’re kinda swamped. I was talking to Parrish about it and he actually gave me a really good idea that could help my dad and I pay for school.”

            “Please tell me you aren’t becoming a stripper…” Derek smirks behind his mug when Stiles gapes at him. What do you expect him to do? _Derek Hale_ just made a joke.

            “Anyway… I enlisted in the army… I leave for boot camp in July.” Derek remains quiet for a few moments. “That’s what Parrish did. He was in the service for a few years and then they paid for his schooling. My dad loves him and he seems like he got off really well… So, I figured, why not give it a shot?”

            “Is this something you really want to do or are you just doing it as a last resort type deal?” Stiles frowns at the fact that Derek seems genuinely concerned. Since when did Mr. Sourwolf become all caring and squishy? Stiles figured he’d be the easiest to tell because it would be the least emotional. Emotion is creeping its way in and Stiles isn’t sure he’s completely comfortable with it.

            “At first it was just a way to pay for school. But the longer I think about it, the more I think that this could be really good for me. It’ll give me some structure. Give me a chance to fight something that is real and easy to fight. Teach me to not say every damn thought that crosses my brain…” Derek smirks at that one. “So, yeah. This is something I want to do.  I am going to do it for me and for my dad. For my mom, too.” Stiles gets a sad knowing smile for that. “I think she’d be proud of me.”

            “I’m sure she is proud of you.” Derek pats his knee and moves away to put their mugs in the sink.

 

 

            Telling his dad and Derek was pretty easy, but now, Stiles has Scott sitting in front of him with the wrinkled pages crunched in his hand. Scott hasn’t said anything, but seems like he is about to explode. When he looks up, his eyes look a little misty and Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

            “Scotty, I know that this wasn’t the plan. But I’m only going to be in San Diego. And only for four months. After that, it will be one weekend a month and two weeks twice a year. We can handle that, can’t we? No worse that if I was going down to Berkley, right?” Scott hugs him tight and doesn’t let go for a few moments. “It’s going to work out great, Scotty. I know it will.”

            “What are the chances of you getting sent to Afghanistan?” That question hits something in Stiles’ chest that hadn’t been there before.

            “I think they are pretty low. I’m only going to be in the reserves. So unless something crazy happens, which it shouldn’t, I will be sticking around. And, I think that we have two three day weekends during boot camp. I promise one of those nights will be dedicated to pizza and videogames.” Scott smiles and claps Stiles on the shoulder, hitting play on their controllers and killing Stiles’ character. “You cheater!!! You took advantage of my emotional state and used it against me!! I demand a do-over!!” The boys start wrestling until Melissa shouts up the stairs to knock it off.

 

 

            The first few weeks of boot camp are fucking hell. Stiles has to get up at 6 am each day. Who the hell gets up that early? And without coffee? This place is a torture facility, he’s sure of it. All of his superior officers yell at him because he gets distracted easily or his bunk isn’t made right, or he isn’t running fast enough or he isn’t standing right. How does someone not stand right? These people are trying to kill him.

            Every single muscle in his body is yelling at him. Stiles liked to believe that he was in reasonable shape from cross country and lacrosse, but oh how boot camp has proved him wrong. He thought his 7-minute mile was pretty decent until a few guys go flying by him, finishing in just over five. He isn’t as lanky as he used to be. His upper body has filled out and he can definitely do more push-ups than he could a year and a half ago. But all of these macho hardheads are making Stiles look like a noodle. Ice baths and taping become Stiles’ new best friends. Sorry Scotty.

            Stiles uses his free hour everyday to write to the pack or call his dad or to just go sit outside and enjoy the weather without some jarhead snapping at him to move faster. That has been the hardest challenge since Stiles arrived on base. Holding his tongue when someone says something worthy of a sarcastic or snarky come-back. Stiles is quite proud of himself for the fact that he has only had to shine shoes for talking back twice in the two months he has been here. He considers that progress. After the first month, his bottle of aderall is left forgotten in the bottom of his trunk. 

            Week nine rolls around and his superior informs them that they will start training with guns the following week. Stiles refrains from jumping up and down because he knows this is something he will be good at. Stiles has been shooting with his dad since he was big enough to hold a gun. He keeps this fact to himself, wanting to impress his superior officers for the first time since he showed up. This is something that will finally set him apart from the rest of his troop. Stiles is sure that most of them have thought he was a damn joke up until this point. With his inability to run a mile in under six minutes, not being able to bench more than 75 pounds, and sassing when people ask stupid questions, his lieutenant probably wonders why Stiles is still around.

            The reason Stiles is still around? He loves it here. There is nothing threatening the lives of his friends. He never feels the need to fidget anymore. When someone orders him to do something, he does it. Stiles is no longer 147 pounds of fragile bones with sarcasm as his only defense. The last time Stiles climbed on a scale, it tipped toward 180.  There is no more snark, no more sarcasm. Only ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’. Stiles finds that after the first few weeks, waking up at six a.m. isn’t hard at all. He actually kind of likes it. It means that he gets to watch the sun rise during his morning run with the crew. It’s probably good that he got used to sleeping only a few hours a night with all of the nightmares. Getting seven hours of sleep a night, Stiles feels completely rejuvenated and rested.

            That is another thing that has stopped since Stiles arrived on base in San Diego. The nightmares. The ones that he wakes up screaming from. The ones where he rips apart his friends and family with his own hands, but has no control to stop it. Maybe it’s due to the fact that by the time Stiles falls into his bunk, he is so exhausted that he passes out the second he hits his pillow. Stiles has never been so thankful for being completely exhausted at the end of each day.

 

            Stiles walks up to the table with a series of handguns lain out on it. When the training officer had asked who wanted to go first, and Stiles had volunteered, the officer had snickered, but gave him the go-ahead.

            The rest stand quietly as Stiles trails his fingers over each gun, settling on the Glock 9mm. He loads the clip and steps toward the targets. He takes a deep breath and takes off the safety. Pointing and taking shots, he empties the clip. When Stiles turns back around, the two training officers are smiling and nodding, looking proud. A cadet is glaring at him, the same one who has made it his life’s mission to make Stiles’ life a living hell. Stiles swears he’s seen the kid un-tucking the sheets on Stiles’ bunk more than once. And there was that one time Stiles couldn’t find his uniform jacket until it mysteriously reappeared on his bed an hour after he needed it… That was so not his fault. But the rest look fairly impressed. As he joins the group, one of the officers claps him on the shoulder, tells him good job.

            “Thank you, sir. That means a lot, sir.”

            “Where did you learn to shoot like that, cadet?” asks Lieutenant Calvin.

            “My father is the sheriff of my town, sir. He taught me to shoot as soon as I was old enough to get into the shooting range, sir.” Stiles pushes down the surge of pride in his chest.

            “Just handguns?” The lieutenant still has a soft smile on his face.

            “No, sir. Rifles as well. I’ve never shot an automatic weapon, but I figure I could learn, sir.” He gets another clap on the shoulder. Stiles always liked this lieutenant. He can see that the guy has faith in Stiles. Even though Stiles was a little hopeless at the beginning.

            “I’ll see that you do, cadet.” 

 

            The lieutenant keeps his word and soon Stiles is on the shooting range going over the mechanics of every weapon the lieutenant can get his hands on. Stiles stays up late and learns how to take each gun apart and put it back together. The lieutenant looks surprised that Stiles is so eager to make an impression. So Stiles likes to prove people wrong. Who doesn’t?

 

Stiles is running through the target test, three other cadets following close behind. Their mission is to find the threat and neutralize it, in which ever way they deem fit. It is the final test of boot camp, testing their judgment and speed and ability to work in a team. Stiles gets stuck with the cadet, Jack, that has hated him since day one. Jack tries to take over immediately, but makes a bad decision, causing them to waste a good three minutes moving in the wrong direction.

“For fuck’s sake, Jack. We have to go this way. We are on a time clock, you know that right? So, let’s get one thing clear. I am taking over and we are going to get this shit done in the quickest way possible. Jack, you and Todd take the south side of the building. Sean and I will take this set of stairs and meet you at the top. There, we will take down the threat and get our asses out of here.” One of the cadets, Sean, seems to be shaking like a leaf. As soon as Jack and Todd are out of earshot, Stiles turns to the kid. He can’t be more than seventeen. He looks on the verge of a panic attack.

            “Hey, look at me, kid. This is just a test. You aren’t actually in any danger. So what we are going to do? We are going to go up this staircase and find whatever this threat is. We are going to kick its ass and own this test. You got me?” The poor kid clings to his gun just a little tighter, but stands up from where he was huddled against the wall. “Good, let’s get going. The rest of our team should already be up there and we can’t leave them hangin’, now can we?”

            “No, sir.” Stiles smiles and moves up the stairwell, hearing the soft thud of the kid’s boots behind him. When they meet the rest of their team on the top floor of the building, the kid behind him seems just a little braver, his shoulders held just a little taller. Stiles considers that a success in and of itself.

            They make it through the test in near record time. Stiles and his team are greeted with hoots and hollers by the other cadets. Stiles grins and slings and arm over the kid’s shoulders. The kid has the biggest smile Stiles has ever seen. After all the celebrations, Stiles pulls Sean aside.

            “You did great out there. You know that, right? You just have to tell yourself that you are going to make it out. That you are going to see the light of day again. That you are going to see your family again. Keep faith and you’ll be safe. Trust me on that.” Sean gets a huge smile on his face. “You did good today.” At that, Lieutenant Calvin calls Stiles over. “Yes, sir?” Stiles asks with a salute. Lieutenant Calvin salutes and pulls Stiles aside.

            “The colonel would like to speak to you in his office tomorrow at 0800, cadet.” Stiles’ chest clenches a little at that, fearing that he may be getting in trouble for taking charge during the test despite the fact that Jack was supposed to be the leader of the group.

            “May I ask what it’s about, sir?”

            “Not my place to say, cadet. But it is nothing bad, trust me. Get some rest, cadet. That was quite a show.”

 

 

 

            “Colonel? It’s cadet Stilinksi. Lieutenant Calvin said you wanted to see me, sir?” Despite the fact that the lieutenant assured Stiles it was nothing bad, his heart is still pounding in his chest, threatening to shake a rib loose.

            “Take a seat Stiles.” Stiles blinks at the way the colonel uses his first name. “I’m sure Calvin informed you that this is not a negative meeting?” Stiles nods, waits for the colonel to continue. “Lieutenant Calvin has kept me informed of your progress in the months you have been here. I have to admit, I was a little worried that you might not be successful here.” Stiles blushes at that comment, remembering the first month of struggling through everything. “But you turned it around and surprised a lot of people. I watched the test yesterday and was very impressed. Cadet Gonzalez wasn’t successful in his efforts to lead and I was happy to see you recognize that and make the choice to take over. That is what I like to see. You have the ability to read a situation and make decisions based on what information you are given in a fast and efficient manner.”

            “Thank you, sir. I try to do my best, sir.” Stiles thinks that this probably isn’t just a praise meeting, but the compliments do feed Stiles’ ego just a little. “May I ask if that was the only reason you wished to see me, sir?”

            “No, it wasn’t. I know that when you joined up, you intended to be a reserve. While learning of your progress, I can’t help but ask if you have changed your mind on that aspect. Possibly becoming an active duty member of the service?”

            “No, sir… I hadn’t considered it. Going overseas was never really an option for me. It’s just me and my dad and I don’t think I could take the chance that something might happen to me. I can’t leave him alone…” The colonel nods, clearly understanding.

            “Lieutenant Calvin has told me of how eager you are to learn everything, how eager you are to impress and improve. That is something we look for in lieutenants.” Stiles’ ears perk up at that. He couldn’t have heard that right. They weren’t considering making him a lieutenant. He’s only been here for four and a half months… That’s insane… “Stilinksi, we are looking at promoting you and keeping you around. Think you could make plans for that to happen for us? We are looking at having you work on training in the shooting range.”

            “Pardon my language, sir, but holy shit…” The colonel just laughs. “Are you sure that you want me responsible for people who are only a year younger than me, sir?”

            “Stilinksi, I saw the way you handled the situation with the cadet on your team yesterday. He is only a year and a half younger than you. And you took over and made him see that you were going to get him out of there alive. That is what we want to see in a leader.” Stiles can’t help the giant smile on his face.

            “Wow, thank you, sir… Uh, would it be alright if I call my dad and get back to you on this, sir? He is kind of expecting me to be home in a couple weeks…”

            “Of course, cadet. I will be on base all day, just let me know.”

 

 

            “I know that this wasn’t the plan, but they are offering to pay me to train people how to safely shoot guns. Isn’t that something that is really important? And I’ll be making good money that I can put toward paying for school.” His dad is quiet on the other line, to the point where he isn’t sure his dad hasn’t hung up. “Dad?”

            “Just be safe, alright?”

            “That’s what I’m trying to do. I’ll be home in a few weeks to get some more of my stuff, alright? I’ll see you then.”

 

 

            “I swear to god, cadet, if you hold a gun like that again, I will take it and smack you upside the head with it, you understand me?” The poor kid is clenching a gun in his fist like it might bite him. “Dear god, you’re all helpless… Except maybe you, cadet.” The one girl in this group smirks as she hits a target in the bullseye with an automatic rifle. Stiles has a particular fondness for this cadet. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of Lydia. Calculating and fierce, not afraid to put someone in their place if need be. That thought is interrupted as a cadet misses a target completely. “Ugh, let’s just call it a day. Go for a run or something cadets.” Stiles scrubs a hand over his head, through his recently re-grown-out hair. This is the third round of recruits that Stiles has trained and he has never seen a more helpless group of kids. He just hopes that he can continue to do his job and make a few half-decent shooters out of this crew.

            “Uh, Lieutenant?” The quiet voice behind him kind of startles him.

            “Yeah, cadet?”

            “Well… I am just… clearly I am sucking it up out here. You think that I could spend a little extra time with you and work on it? I really want to make it here. My dad served and I really need to make him proud… uh, sir…” Stiles smiles. Through the groups he’s trained, he has never had anyone ask for his help. Granted, he’s never really had anyone who has had as much trouble as this cadet. Something in Stiles takes pity on the poor kid, remembering how hard it was the first month.

            “Cadet, if you want to call me Stiles, you can. I really don’t care. Just try to call me lieutenant when the colonel wanders around here. He likes me, but we can’t have you getting in trouble.”

            “So, you’ll help me?”

            “Of course I will. I had trouble when I first showed up here. That was a little over a year and a half ago and look where I am now. At least you are searching out extra help. That’s what is going to put you apart from the rest.” The cadet smiles widely at him, says thank you, and jogs off to catch up with the rest of his group.

 

            As he stands by, watching the test he went through almost two years ago, Stiles feels a swell of pride as the cadet he spent extra time with takes control of his team and leads them through in a decent time. The colonel that promoted him shakes Stiles’ hand and gives him an approving nod.

            “Stilinski, if I could have a word with you?”

            “Of course, sir. What is it?” Stiles is still pumped up on adrenaline from seeing someone he trained be successful. He doesn’t think that feeling will ever get old. He fleetingly wonders if this is what Scott feels when the pack succeeds at something. The colonel clears his throat and brings Stiles back to the present. He has a somewhat somber look on his face that puts quite the damper on Stiles’ mood. “What is it, sir?” It is now that Stiles notices the envelope in the colonel’s hands. Stiles’ heart drops like a rock, immediately knowing what that letter says. “I thought that I wasn’t being considered under active duty… I’m just training these kids. For fuck’s sake, I was in their shoes not two years ago. You can’t send me over there… You promised me, sir… You promised that you wouldn’t send me into that shithole; that I could be here for my dad when he needed me. I can’t do that if I am fighting in a war half way around the goddamn planet…”

            “Stiles, I know I made those promises… But there have been people higher up in the chain that have seen what you can do… They like what they see. You aren’t just being deployed, son. You are being sent to be the head of a special ops team. Do you understand how rare of an opportunity this is for someone your age? It’s damn near impossible. You should be proud that you have been picked to fight for your country. I expected better from you, lieutenant.”

            “My apologies, sir… This is just a little bit of a shock to the system. I figured I would be here to train the next few rounds of cadets, create a few more that were above expectation. You’re right, sir. It is a very good opportunity for someone my age. It would be an honor to fight for my country. Will you make sure to send my thanks to whoever recommended me for the position, sir?” Stiles gets a pat on the shoulder as the letter is placed in his hands. Once again, Stiles is faced with the question of how the hell he is going to tell his dad and the pack the news. “Sir?” The colonel turns back around. “Think I could have the week off to go home and spend with my dad before I go back to training these hoodlums?”

            “Of course, lieutenant. Take all the time you need.” And with that, Stiles has his jeep packed up and is driving home to Beacon Hills.

 

            Stiles isn’t sure why, but for whatever reason, he finds himself at Derek’s loft. Just like the first time. Though this time, he doesn’t bother knocking, having grown accustomed to just being at Derek’s, whether with the pack or just on his own. Their friendship has come to a new level, one where Stiles has a key to the giant metal door.

            “Derek?” Stiles voice echoes off the walls as his back pack hits the floor with a thud. “You home?” At that point, Derek wanders down the stairs in a towel, hair still wet from a shower.

            “Stiles? What are you doing back?” Derek rubs an extra towel through his hair and goes to grab clothes out of the dresser near his bed. “You smell terrified… What’s wrong?” As soon as Derek has pulled on an old Henley and some sweats, he is at Stiles’ side. Stiles’ hands shake when he gives Derek the still unopened letter. He doesn’t care when he leaves, how long he will be gone, only that he is leaving. As Derek tears open the envelope, Stiles can feel panic rising in his chest. It sits there, heavy and obtrusive, making his lungs not work right. “Hey, are you having a panic attack?” Stiles only nods, not really knowing if he can form words right now. “Sit down…” Stiles follows his instructions and Derek is in front of him between his knees. “Look at me. Look at me, Stiles. Listen and do as I say. Breathe in for seven… Hold it for four… And breathe out for eight… Okay, good. Now do that again.” The panic starts to ebb and Derek moves to sit next to him, running a hand up and down his back. “When was the last time you had one of those?”

            “Fuck, I don’t even remember… Probably senior year.” Stiles’ hands are still shaking and he feels kind of exhausted. “Derek?” Derek just hums, continuing the soothing rhythm up and down Stiles’ spine. This is something that Stiles is still working on getting used to. Derek touching people and showing affection willingly. It kind of throws him for a loop every time it happens, but Derek seems happier, so whatever. “I’m fucking terrified. They are sending me over there to be a head of this team that I have never even met. What if they don’t listen to me and they die? I’m going to be responsible for their lives… If anything happens to them, it will be all my fault. I don’t know if I can handle that… Hell, I don’t even know what special operations they are going to be sending us on. What if they are going to have us kill innocent people? I already have enough innocent blood on my hands… I don’t know if I will survive having any more…” Derek’s hand leaves Stiles’ back to wrap tightly around his shoulder. Derek looks sad, but there is a determined air about him that Stiles has seen before.

            “If they think you are fit for the job, then you are. They aren’t going to throw someone into that kind of situation if they only think you can handle it. The people who make those decisions _know_ that you are capable of taking charge of a group of people and getting things done. They wouldn’t have sent you this letter if you weren’t.” Stiles nods and the panic that still hasn’t completely left his chest lightens just a little. “And I know how you feel. It isn’t quite the same, but when I killed Peter and became the alpha, there was a lot of responsibility that I wasn’t prepared for. I wasn’t ready. I screwed up a lot and most of the people I drug into this life didn’t make it out…” Derek’s face falters slightly and Stiles knows he is thinking about Erica and Boyd… Probably Isaac, too, who is still in France after three years. “But you have something I didn’t have. You are a born leader. You talk and people want to listen. People trust you. So you know what? You are going to go. You are going to make that team of jarheads love and respect you. And then you are going to come home and tell me all about it. Alright?”

            “Thanks… Now I know why you are always the first person I tell when it comes to all of this… Now I have to go tell my dad and Scott and just pray that neither of them cry on me. Because if they do, I will surely lose my shit…”

            “I think you kind of already did. Doesn’t having a panic attack fall under the ‘losing my shit’ umbrella?” Stiles just punches Derek, who growls but bumps their shoulders together. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” Derek pats his knee and gets up, moving to pull a book off his shelf.

            “I don’t know if that is a promise you can make.”

            “Get out of my house.”

            “You forgot that you gave me a key, didn’t you? Old man…” Derek shifts into beta form and before Stiles knows it he is shoved into the hallway and the door is clanging shut in front of him. “Yeah, yeah. Love you, too sourwolf.” A muffled ‘fuck off’ follows Stiles down the stairs, making him smile.

 

            The sheriff looks as though he might hit him or hug the life out of him, Stiles still isn’t sure. He doesn’t think he has ever seen fear on his father’s face, but he knows the second it appears in the older man’s features that he never wants it there again. So, Stiles hugs his dad. They stand in the kitchen and cling to each other. Stiles swears he feels a wet patch beginning to seep through the shoulder of his t-shirt.

            “Dad, I’m going to be fine. Really. I will have a team of the best working with me. Yeah, it will be dangerous, but I have been possessed by a thousand-year-old demon. Can’t get much worse than that.” John glares at him for that, still not willing to make jokes about the evil spirit that almost took his son from him. “Seriously, though. This letter isn’t a demand. It’s an offer to take a job that protects innocent people. That is exactly what you try to do every single day. Protect people. That is all I am trying to do. Keep people safe. Serve my country. It’s only ten months. Plus, there’s Skype. I can write letters. You can make Melissa send me some of her amazing cookies while I plead with her to force feed you salads every once and a while.” John’s features finally lighten up at that. He pats Stiles on the shoulder, looking proud instead of scared for his life.

            “Your mom would be proud of you, you know that? If she could only see what you turned into. You remind me so much of her. Your compassion, your drive, your curiosity. She would do anything for the people she cared about and you do the same every day. It makes it a little easier, knowing that even though she didn’t get to see you grow up, she still had a fundamental part in it.” Stiles doesn’t realize there are tears rolling down his face until they splash onto the tabletop next to his arm. “Promise me something, son?”

            “Anything, dad.”

            “You’ll do everything you possibly can to make it back to Beacon Hills in one piece.”

            “I’m going to make it home, dad. I promise. It will be ten months of me and my team kicking ass and then I will come home and make sure you don’t die by way of too many French fries. Deal?” John scrubs a hand down his face, trying to hide the tears that escaped his control. He pats Stiles on the back, pulls him in for another hug, and says something gruff about there being a game on or something. Stiles rolls his eyes and says he is going to Scott’s.

            Stiles’ hands shake the entire ten minute ride to Scott and Kira’s apartment. He tries to formulate a plan in his brain and for the first time in months, he wishes he had taken his aderall this morning. Hell, does he even have any that isn’t expired? Whatever. He can do this. He can. Things went well with his dad and Derek, why wouldn’t things go well with Scott? It’s all going to be fine, he tells himself as he swings the jeep into a parking space.

           

            It’s not all fine. Nothing is fine. Scott is yelling at Stiles. Kira is yelling at Scott for yelling at Stiles. And Stiles just kind of feels like crying. When had he gone from them hugging and smiling to Scott threatening to call his superior officer and tell him Stiles is an alcoholic. Which, sorry Scotty, but they know for a fact that Stiles is only 20. How could he be an alcoholic if he can’t legally drink? Kind of a lapse in judgment… Holy shit, is that Stiles’ bat he’s holding?!

            “Scotty, dude, what is up with you?!” Stiles has the couch between he and Scott, who is breathing like an angry bull. “Scott, it’s all going to be okay. I’m just going away for awhile. I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

            “How could you even consider this an option, Stiles?! What do you think will happen to us if something happens to you and you don’t come home? Do you understand what that will do to your dad if he loses you and your mom? You can’t leave him. You can’t leave me!” Kira is fluttering beside Scott, like she isn’t sure if she should touch him or not. Apparently she makes up her mind and sets a hand on his shoulder. The tension bleeds out of him immediately and he slumps to the couch.

            “I’m going to leave you two to talk now that I know you aren’t going to kill each other…” Kira wanders out of the room as Stiles moves to join Scott on the couch.

            “Do you remember when we went to that super creepy hotel and all got poisoned by the wolfsbane hidden in coach’s whistle?” Stiles nods, has a feeling he knows where Scott is headed with this. “Do you remember what you said to me when you were trying to get me to put the flare down?” Stiles nods again and his throat tightens. “You said that I was your best friend, your brother. That you needed me. I need you just as much, Stiles. You are family and I don’t think I can do this without you. You are the closest thing the pack has to an emissary. We can’t do anything without you.” Stiles slings an arm over Scott’s shoulders and presses their heads together. “When we thought you were sick, I tried to think of what it would be like if you weren’t around… Thing is? I can’t. You’ve been here since I can remember… You can’t leave now…”

            “I know, bud. I have to though. It’s my duty. You have an obligation to the pack as our leader. I have an obligation to the team waiting for me over there. Without me, they won’t have their alpha. And a pack without an alpha is just a bunch of omegas, right?” Scott presses his face into Stiles neck; in the way Stiles has gotten so accustomed to. Werewolves can be so clingy.

            “You had better get your ass home alive. You have to be the best man in my wedding. You have to be the godfather of my kids. We have to get into trouble until we are ninety. There are so many things we still have to do. So, promise me you’ll make it home safe if I promise to make your dad eat a salad twice a week?” Stiles can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest as he wraps Scott in the tightest hug he can manage.

            “Sounds good, buddy.”

 

 

 

            A month later, Stiles is standing in the airport with a large duffle bag slung over his shoulders and a bleary-eyed pack staring at him. The girls are all crying and Stiles is pretty certain he saw Liam wipe away a tear a few minutes ago. Scott looks as though he is biting his tongue to keep from losing his shit. Derek is kind of just standing back and looking awkward.

            Stiles had a watery-eyed goodbye with Parrish yesterday that he hadn’t expected. He figured they’d just have a weird side hug, a pat on the back, and some promise to get a beer when Stiles made it home. (Which is something the pack has branded into him. Saying ‘when’ he is going to come home, not ‘if’. Stiles lost count of the number of times Lydia yelled at him for saying ‘if I come home’.) But when Stiles showed up at the station, Parrish had pulled him into a full-on hug, complete with back rubs and everything. Parrish promised that as soon as the sheriff had Stiles’ address, he would ask his mom to send Stiles cookies. Then, Parrish said he was proud of Stiles, said there was something in Stiles that reminded him of himself. He had hugged Stiles again and muttered something about paperwork before going into his office and slamming the door.

            “Stiles, so help me god, if something happens to you while you’re over there and you don’t make it back, I will necromance your ass back to life and kill you myself. Understood?” Stiles laughs at Lydia’s comment, but still feels how terrified for him she really is. Stiles isn’t sure if she has ever been afraid of anything. Four years ago, Stiles would have had a heart attack if she had shown that she cared this deeply for him. Now, it just makes his heart clench painfully at leaving one of his best friends behind. “Please be safe. For all of us. I don’t think we’d survive without you.” The last part is whispered into Stiles’ ear as he hugs her tight.

            “I love you, Lyds. I will see you in ten months.”

            “You bet your ass you will.” He kisses her on the cheek, resting his forehead against hers for just a moment. “Go get em’ Stilinski.” Lydia moves away and Malia comes to stand in front of Stiles, toying with a string at the bottom of her sweater. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to pull her in. She immediately sighs, wrapping her arms around his waist and pushing her face into his neck. Whatever chemistry that had been between the two senior year has long since fizzled out, but (as cheesy as it is) Malia will always hold a special place in Stiles’ heart. Every once in a while, when Stiles is home in Beacon Hills, Malia still finds her way into his bed. She curls around him just like she always has, mostly on nights where the pack has just taken down some new creature. The platonic snuggles help them both sleep better. Still, neither of them says anything as she pulls away and goes to cling to Lydia. Stiles is still confused how the two ended up being friends, but if anyone needed a friend, it was Malia.

            Liam is standing near Scott with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks distressed, most likely picking up on how high Scott’s emotions are running. Maybe it’s the true alpha thing, but Scott and Liam have a weirdly strong connection. But Stiles doesn’t question it. Liam has finally gotten his anger under control and Scott is stronger than ever. No one comes into the True Alpha’s territory anymore, even if his pack is a little mismatched. When Liam glances up and finds Stiles looking at him, he shuffles over and slings an arm around Stiles in a brief half-hug.

            “What is this half-hug bullshit?” Liam huffs, clearly trying to sound put out, but wraps Stiles in a hug and scents him like Malia did. “I’m gonna miss you, kid.” Stiles ruffles Liam’s hair and he grumbles as he smoothes it back into place.

            “You, too, Stiles. It’ll be too quiet without you here.”

            “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

            “Shut up.”

            Kira is still crying when she flings her arms around Stiles’ neck. She just kind of hangs there as Stiles runs his hands up and down her back. After about a minute, she lets go and goes to Lydia and Malia, clinging to them as if they were a damn lifeline. Derek approaches as Kira runs away, still looking awkward.

            “Come here, big guy.” It still surprises Stiles slightly when Derek comes willingly to hug him. Yeah, touchy-feely Derek is still weird, but nice. Stiles thinks that maybe this is more what Derek was like before Kate, before the fire. “Don’t revert back to your old growly self while I’m gone, alright? I like this you.” Stiles swears the tips of Derek’s ears turn pink at that. “Love you, sourwolf.” Derek sighs loudly and grips Stiles just a little bit tighter. It’s meant to make Stiles fear for his bones’ wellbeing, but all it does is make Stiles want to start crying again. He bites back the tears though.

            “See you in ten months.”

            “It’s a date.” Derek rolls his eyes so hard Stiles thinks he might have just seen the inside of his own head. Next thing Stiles knows, his hair is thoroughly ruffled and he’s being shoved toward a weirdly quiet Scott. Neither of them says anything; just wrap each other in a hug. Scott shoves his face into Stiles’ neck, scenting in the same way all the other wolves have. Stiles takes a shaky breath as he lets go of his brother. Scott immediately moves into Kira’s waiting arms and hides his face in her hair. Liam brushes Scott’s arm and Stiles swears he hears both wolves whine. Derek waves as the pack walks away. Stiles’ chest already hurts. The sheriff is standing in front of him, looking like he has no idea what to do. That’d be a first.

            “Love you, dad.” John pulls him into a rib-crushing hug. “I’ll get you my address as soon as I get settled. And we can figure out what days we can Skype on. I guess I’ll have to get used to deciphering your chicken scratch handwriting if we start writing letters. Oh… I didn’t pack any stamps. You think I’ll need stamps over there or will they provide them? God, this feels like summer camp all over again…”

            “Stiles…” Yup, he was rambling, wasn’t he? Damn, he hasn’t done that in a while. “I love you, son. Promise me something?”

            “Of course.”

            “If you don’t make it home, tell your mother I love her?” That’s it. That’s what does it. That one simple sentence breaks down every single emotional dam Stiles has put up since the colonel set the letter in his hands. The back of Stiles’ throat goes scratchy and no matter how many times he swallows, it won’t go away. A weird sob-like noise forces its way out of his lungs as he clings to his dad. “You should get going… Can’t have you missing your flight…” With that, his dad is pushing him away and towards security. So, Stiles grabs his duffle bag and gets moving, hoping that he won’t have to much time to think about the fact that he is leaving his dad alone for nearly a year.

 

            Stiles is able to sleep through most of the flight to New York. There is an old lady sitting next to him that chats about how she loved a man in uniform in her day. He just smiles when she pats his leg appreciatively. She continues to ramble on about how her husband served in Vietnam and how she thought that he was probably writing to, and Stiles quotes, ‘some bitch named Janis’ while he was at war. But she married him, so Janis can ‘suck it’. Stiles chokes on his free pretzels at that.

            Stiles tells her about what he’s being sent over for as the woman, Debra, rests a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He tells her his fears and his worries. Tells her about the friends and family he left behind. About the fact that he’s never even has a serious relationship and he might never get to have one if this turns out to be a one way ticket. Debra tells him about her wonderful granddaughter that is Stiles’ age and apparently very pretty. She even goes so far to pull up a picture on her Ipad. Stiles can’t object, her granddaughter is really beautiful. Strawberry blonde hair that reminds him of Lydia. Piercing green eyes that kind of remind him of Derek. Stiles tells Debra he wants to sleep after she shows him the picture. The thoughts of his friends are too much and Stiles doesn’t want to cry in front of a stranger.

 

            If California is hot, then Afghanistan is the fucking center of the sun. Stiles is in the back of a truck with ten other soldiers on their way to the base. No one is saying anything. Everyone is sweating. It’s a good thing Stiles has gained more control over his rambling in the past few years because he is sure that if his rambling were to start, the rest of these guys would toss him out the back.  He entertains himself by imagining what his fellow soldiers were like in high school and thinking of whether or not he would have gotten along with them. Stiles comes to the conclusion that he would get along with a total of three of them. For whatever reason, it seems like he has picked the three smallest of the group. The only two girls and a kid with dark hair and light eyes. The rest of the guys all look like pompous assholes and Stiles finds himself desperately hoping that none of them are part of this new team he’s meeting up with soon.

            The truck lurches to a stop and they all clamber out into the blistering heat. A general is waiting for them, answering their salutes with one of his own. He welcomes them to the base, tells them to head to the mess hall, but calls Stiles over.

            “Heard a lot of good things about you, kid.”

            “Thank you, sir. Glad to be here, sir.”

            “Well that’s bullshit if I ever heard it. No one wants to be here. You have a higher chance of being blown to shit than making it out. But I like the enthusiasm. We’ll squish that like a bug.” The general claps Stiles on the back and he suddenly feels like he just got thrown back into his first day at boot camp. “Anybody back over the pond say that you’d have a different title over here?”

            “No, sir, they did not.” Stiles figured he would remain a lieutenant while he served. The colonel never mentioned anything to him… Stiles feels weirdly out of the loop.

            “Well, you are the head of one of our most elite teams. You’re a captain now. Welcome to hell.” And with that, the general is walking away, leaving Stiles a bit confused on what to do. His stomach rumbles at him, so he heads to the mess hall to hopefully meet up with the rest of the newbies.

 

            A major takes him over to the large tent that houses his team and Stiles tries to wipe the sweat off his palms before he meets the people whose lives are in his hands now. Immediately, an older guy, maybe forties, comes and shakes Stiles’ hand, introducing himself as Skip. He has a thick southern accent that makes Stiles immediately want to call him dad. Though, he figures he’ll get punched for that.

            “This is Jessie,” Skip points to a girl not much older than Stiles with bright red hair and a large knife between her teeth. “That’s Thomas. We call him Boots. Don’t ask why.” Thomas has sandy blonde hair, a tight smile, and is cleaning a sniper rifle. “This is Mac and Dennis. They are the tech-savvy ones of the group. God knows I’m helpless with that shit.”

            “That’s ‘cause you’re ninety, Skip.” Mac snickers as Dennis gives him a high five.

            “Shut up, asshole. Anyway, this here’s Jake. He’s the explosives expert, can render any bomb inert in thirty seconds or less.” Jake gives him a bright smile that calms Stiles’ nerves just a little. “This is our own personal medic, Terry.” Terry looks a little worn down, but still has a soft smile on his face. Stiles thinks that must count for something. His eyes sweep around the tent, taking in the faces of the people he is now in charge of. There is one person who Skip didn’t introduce. A young guy in the corner is flipping a knife over and over, watching Stiles with a calculating look on his face. He has light brown hair and blue eyes. Stiles would be lying if he said this guy wasn’t attractive. But something about the way his eyebrows are drawn together disapprovingly makes Stiles want to walk out of the tent and not look back. He can’t be more than a few years older than Stiles, but looks as though he has years and years of experience over Stiles’ measly two.

            “Uh, Skip… Who’s he?” Skip’s eyes wander over to the guy in the corner and he sighs.

            “That’s Chase. He is our sniper. Damn good at it too. But don’t let him hear ya say that. Head’s already bigger than this whole damn base.” Shit. That’s why Chase is looking at Stiles that way. Stiles is trained as a sniper. His lieutenant when he was still a cadet told him he was the best he’d ever seen. Fuck. He’s been in this damn tent all of five minutes and he is already taking someone’s job. This is just fucking awesome. “His bark is worse than his bite. Just give him a few days and he’ll warm up to you. Chase doesn’t like new people, does he guys?” The rest of the group laughs and Chase’s eyes finally flick away from Stiles.

            “Alright, well… uh…” The whole crew stops what they are doing to turn and look at Stiles. All except Chase. Of course. “My name is Stiles. And before you ask what a Stiles is, it’s my nickname. I only have it because my real name is Polish and not even my dad can pronounce it. Guess I am supposed to be heading you guys?” Stiles scratches at the back of his neck as they continue to stare at him. He looks to Skip for help, but all he gets is a shrug. Jessie takes pity on him and drags him out of the tent to show him around the rest of the base. “Thanks…”

            “So, you gay or somethin’?” Stiles chokes on his tongue and Jessie laughs as she claps him on the back. “Sorry, it’s just… I am so used to guys ogling at me because I’m the only girl on this base. You barely gave me a second glance.”

            “No, I’m not gay… I’m just not a pig.” That makes Jessie laugh even harder, nudging him with her elbow. “I kind of think of myself as an equal opportunist.” Stiles wants to bite his tongue off. Why in the hell is he telling this person he just met that he’s into dudes? Jesus. He’s supposed to be making a good impression, right? “Sorry, you didn’t need to know that.”

            “Dude, I’m from NYC. Being bi is as fucking tame as they come there. But I won’t tell the guys. Not my place. I know how these jarheads can get with that kind of stuff. Whole don’t ask, don’t tell bullshit.” Stiles smiles, knowing he and Jessie are going to get along just fine.

 

            During their tour around the base, Stiles learns that Jessie’s dad was one of the many firefighters that never made it home from the wreckage of 9/11. She says that’s what motivated her to join up when she finished high school. He squeezes her shoulder, tells her about his mom. They get into a discussion of their families and hometowns. And before they know it, it’s beginning to get dark. They head back to the tent and hear a bunch of shouting coming from inside.

            “How do they expect me to follow the orders of some fucking _cadet_ who just rolled in _this morning_? He is going to get us all fucking killed and you know it, Skip!” It’s a voice Stiles doesn’t recognize, but he’ll bet his left nut it belongs to Chase.

            “Chase! He is your superior officer! When he gives you an order, you are to follow it. So help me god, if you say one word against him, I will get the general and have him put his boot so

far up your ass, you’ll taste leather. You understand me? I expect better, lieutenant.” Stiles’ chest swells a little at the fact that Skip is defending him. Jessie gives him an apologetic shrug that tells him this is standard behavior for Chase. Jesus, this is going to be fun. They enter the tent and Chase is pacing back and forth, fists clenched at his sides.

            “You better fucking hope we don’t lose anyone because he doesn’t have a clue what the hell he is doing out there.”

            “You’re just worried the kid is going to show you up, Chase.” Dennis tosses a baseball to Mac, who is biting onto his sleeve to hold in the laughter.

            “Fuck off.” Jessie clears her throat. Skip gives him the ‘sorry you had to hear that’ look. Chase doesn’t look thrown at all. “You catch all that, or do I need to repeat myself?”

            “Lay off, Chase. For god’s sake, the poor guy just got here. You can’t expect him to know everything right as he tumbles off the truck. You sure as hell didn’t.” Terry throws Chase an annoyed look over whatever book he is reading. “Take a walk.” Chase clenches his fists one more time, but shoves his way out of the tent anyway. “He’s a dick. Just show him you can be a bigger one and he’ll lay off.” Stiles nods, moves to sit down by Skip who is looking over a file folder.

            “What’s this Skip?”

            “Mission for tomorrow. Thought you’d want to look it over and talk out ideas for a plan.” Again, Skip reminds Stiles of his dad. “Don’t worry about it. It really isn’t an important one. Just going and getting a little intel.”

 

 

            “CAP.” Stiles is jerked awake by Jessie screaming in his ear.

            “What the fuck? What’s wrong? Anybody hurt?” He rolls out of his cot and shoves his feet in his boots. After stumbling out of the tent and tucking in his shirt, he finds his team snickering. “Goddamn it, guys. Why do you keep doing that to me?” Mac and Dennis are leaning on each other and have tears of laughter streaming down their faces. “I hate each and every one of you. I’m going back to bed.”

            “Sorry, cap.” Jessie’s face is red and she is hiding behind Skip. “They made me do it…”

            “Yeah whatever Jess. Don’t wake me up again, you dipshits.” Stiles falls back into bed, but has a smile on his face. The first four months on base were torture. He made a lot of stupid mistakes that Skip had to help him fix. One of those even got Boots shot in the left shoulder. He swears it was superficial, but Terry worked on him for almost two hours after. His team trusts him now. Trusts that he will get them back to this crummy tent in one piece. Skip barely ever has to step in and when he does, it’s in addition to Stiles’ plans. Stiles has to write to his dad and Scott the first day he got here when he found out they had no internet connection on base. His dad was disappointed on the lack of Skype dates, but Stiles still got a letter from him about once a month. Things in Beacon Hills are calm, or so Scott says. In one letter, Scott mentioned looking for a ring for Kira. Stiles boasted about his awesome best friend to his whole team for a week after that letter.

Something he wasn’t expecting was getting letters from Derek almost every other week. They don’t talk about much and the letters aren’t long, but Stiles is glad to know that the grumpy werewolf misses him. Jessie gives him shit for the goofy smile he gets on his face, but he brushes her aside, saying he just misses home. Stiles doesn’t expect Derek to get angry with him when he doesn’t reply to his letter in the usual amount of time. He has to admit that it’s a little weird to realize Derek was worried something had happened to him. Stiles knows they are good friends now, but it’s still hard to acknowledge the fact that Derek no longer wants to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth. Plus, the letters are a welcome distraction from all the shit going on around him. Derek does a good job of filling in the missing pieces from Scott and John’s letters. It makes Stiles feel like he is still a part of their lives even though he is half way around the planet.

Jessie and he have the kind of friendship that he and Lydia had back home. His team had an understanding that they can come to him with any type of worry they might have. Whether it’s doubts about the way he chooses to handle a mission or just having a hard time being away from their families. Jess does it often and Stiles has learned more about her than he ever imagined he would. She is amazingly open about her family, while the rest of Stiles’ team likes to keep their home lives separate from it all. Stiles understands that. He understands not wanting to talk about what ties them home. What waits for them if they get the privilege of surviving.

           

_“Hey, cap? Can I talk to you for a second?” Jessie kicks at the dirt and looks a little terrified. Stiles doesn’t like that look. He has done everything in his power to keep his team safe._

_“Of course. Let’s take a walk?” Jessie nods and they move to walk the same path they took the first night Stiles was on base. “What’s on your mind, Jess?” She remains quiet, but Stiles figures she’ll talk when she is ready. They walk in silence for almost a half hour, coming to the lone tree on the base. Stiles moves to sit under the tree, patting the dirt next to him. Jess sits, pulling her knees up to her chin. “Jessie, what’s wrong? You’re never this quiet.”_

_“Mom’s sick…”Stiles’ heart clenches painfully as he remembers similar words coming from his dad’s mouth years ago. “She… uh… She’s got some type of cancer I can’t pronounce. The doctors aren’t really sure if it’s treatable yet.” Stiles scoots closer and slings an arm over Jessie’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say sorry, knowing that it won’t help. “I can’t lose her. She’s all I’ve got left. When my dad died, my brother was a senior in high school. He finished up school and ran for the hills. I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing with his life… It has always just been me and my mom…”_

_“I get it, Jess. I really do. You know my dad is a sheriff and I really fucking hated that. I hated not knowing if he was going to come home every night. There have been a few times where he was hours late and I freaked out. Damn near destroyed the house. But you know what? My dad is strong. He can take care of himself. And if she is anything like you, I know that you’re mom is the same. She will fight this and she will win, you hear me?” Stiles grabs Jess’ chin, making her look at him. She doesn’t look sad like he expected. There is an anger in her eyes that Stiles remembers feeling._

_“And what if she doesn’t? What if I lose her and have nothing to come home to? What do I do then?”_

_“You survive.”_

Stiles is incredibly thankful that his team has decided that he isn’t a complete idiot. They all pull pranks on one another, but do everything in their power to keep each other safe each time they leave the base. These people trust Stiles with their lives and he trusts them with his.

            Except Chase. Stiles is pretty sure that he would punch Stiles out given the chance. He ignores Stiles’ orders during missions. He never pays attention when Stiles goes over plans. He snaps at Stiles when he tries to get him to do anything but sit in the corner and flip that fucking knife. Boots always cleans Chase’s gun for him. Stiles isn’t sure what kind of deal they have worked out, but Boots does it without question. Has done it since the day Stiles got here.

            “Alright guys. We have a big day tomorrow. Might be out all night. We ready to go over the plan?” Stiles gets grunts from around the tent. “Gather round ya bunch of meatheads.” The rest of the team moves to look at the map sitting in front of Stiles. Jessie hip-checks his shoulder until he moves over on the crate and gives her room to sit. As per usual, Chase remains in his corner with that stupid fucking knife.

            “What are we lookin’ at, cap?” Boots picks up a marker, twirls it around his fingers. Mac and Dennis flop onto a cot. Stiles is beginning to think those two are connected at the hip. They are always slumped over a computer, mumbling about some tech shit Stiles never understands. They always get put together when the team leaves the base. Stiles may or may not think they have a thing for each other. Isn’t part of being queer having some kind of radar thing for other queer people? Because if so, it is blaring every time Stiles stands anywhere near those two. He is so close to just telling one of them to just make a damn move so the rest of the team can stop suffering second-hand embarrassment from the way they look at each other.

            “Okay, so we are going into this area, right here. It is deeper into the city than we’ve gone before, so we are going to need to be extra careful about who sees us.” Skip is nodding along with Stiles. “There’s this guy who’s name I can’t fucking pronounce. Whatever. He has some weapons stockpiled at a building in the downtown area. It’s our job to get to this place and take down whatever idiots are hiding out there. We are going to take count of what weapons they’ve got and see where they may be getting them from. As usual, there will be a group of people guarding the block surrounding the building. Chase, Terry, Boots, you’ll take the south side and hang back until you hear my cue. Jessie, Skip, Mac, you guys are gonna be on the north side and do the same. Dennis, you will be with Jake and I on the roof of the building here.” Stiles points to a building about a half block away from where the weapons are thought to be held. “Jake and I will watch for the activity and let the rest of you know when it is relatively safe and you’ll move in. Dennis will try to get into their system and listen in on what’s going on inside the building? We all got it?” The team nods and Stiles chances a glance over at Chase. He is fiddling with the edge of his pillow. Stiles wonders if he heard a word Stiles said in the past ten minutes. He doubts it. The fear that this idiot who refuses to listen to him because of some stupid beef he’s got will get one of his team killed settles in Stiles’ stomach like it always does the night before a dangerous mission.

 

            Stiles and Jake are on the roof, looking at the front of the building. Dennis is fiddling with some instruments that Stiles still doesn’t understand behind them. He’s got headphones on and is listening in on something. He had tried to explain it to Stiles, which had only lead to a headache. There are a few guards sitting near the front doors. They each have large guns, Stiles isn’t sure what kind yet, and by the looks of it, each has a belt with grenades clipped onto. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ “Okay guys. There are two on the roof and a couple sitting in front of the main doors. They have explosives. This might be a little stickier than we thought. Hold on. I’m going to get into a better position to see the side of the building. I’m starting to think that this might be a better way to get in. Too many people in front. I want to limit the civilian involvement today, guys.” Stiles gets a ‘yes, sir’ and an ‘alrighty cap’. Jake and he shift their set-up so they can view the side of the building more clearly, while still keeping the front doors in sight. Stiles peers through the scope on his rifle one last time, counting only two guys on the side doors, neither have the belts of grenades like the guards at the front. That sets off an alarm in the back of Stiles brain. _Something is fishy here…_ Stile thinks as he readjusts his scope. Why would the guards at the front of the building be more heavily guarded than the guards at the side? Something’s definitely not right. “Okay, south side, you are going to hold back while the north side moves in and gets a vantage point. Be extremely careful guys. Something doesn’t feel right. If I say pull back, you pull back, regardless of how close you are to getting into the building. You got that?”Stiles’ heart is starting to pound, like his body knows something he doesn’t. “I don’t like this Jake…” Jake nods, keeps his eyes on the targets.

            “Roger that, cap,” Jessie quips. From where Stiles is perched, he can see Chase toss his hands up in the air, clearing not agreeing with Stiles’ judgment, yet again. He can see the lieutenant arguing with Terry. _Can’t you just fucking listen?_

            “North team, let’s get going.” Skip moves along the block, with Jessie and Mac in tow. Stiles is still glancing around, looking for anyone that might try to pick off his team. In the corner of his eye, he sees Chase begin to move, Terry and Boots reluctantly following.

            “Goddamn it, Chase. You need to wait until I give you the okay!” Terry and Boots fall back, but Chase keeps going. “Lieutenant! I swear to fucking god, you had better stay put. You can’t see what’s going on from your position. Get your ass back to your position, NOW.” The fucking idiot keeps fucking going. He continues to skirt around the building, making his way to the front. Stiles knows that if Chase continues to move, someone will spot him and _bad shit_ will go down.

            “Sorry, captain, but there is no way I am leaving them hanging.” Stiles tightens his grip on his gun, fights back the urge to shoot his own lieutenant just so he won’t get someone else killed. _If someone dies because of this dipshit, I am going to skin him alive._ As soon as that thought crosses Stiles’ mind, some commotion begins near the corner of the building he has been watching all morning. One of the guards at the front of the building has spotted Chase and is yelling. More guards come flooding out the front doors and suddenly Stiles and his team are outnumbered two to one.

            It’s a flurry of noise and shooting and things blowing up. Stiles is screaming in his radio for everyone to get their asses out of the area as soon as they can. Jake and Dennis are cussing loudly as they do their best to take down whoever comes into their view in an attempt to protect their team who’s blind on the ground.

            “Jess, there are two on your right. Skip, think you can get her and Mac out of there and home safe?”

            “Absolutely. Let’s get these sons of bitches.”

            “Jake, Den, let’s go. They need our help down there.”  They take their station down as quickly as possible, running down a flight of stairs. “Den, I need you to slip around the back and help out Boots and Terry.” Den takes off, saluting and telling them that he’ll see em’ back at base. Jake looks worried, but determined. “Let’s get these assholes.” Jake actually smiles and laughs, something Stiles isn’t sure he can do.

            By the time Stiles gets to the north team, six bodies are in his path. It’s a testament to the kind of hell they are in the middle of that he doesn’t even flinch when he takes each of them down. Jake has an equal tally under his belt. Jess is taking cover against a partial wall, trying not to get shot by the guards near the side door. Stiles isn’t sure where Skip and Mac are, or where the rest of the team is. The radio is just constant static in his ear until he rips out the earpiece. Stiles spots a place on a low-hanging roof and makes his way over. From here, he can pick off each and every guard that is trying to kill Jess. And he does. Without thinking. Without flinching. Without feeling an ounce of guilt. They are after the closest thing he has to family over here and for that, each and every son of bitch trying to kill them gets to die. _Hope it’s fucking worth it_ , Stiles thinks bitterly.

            Then, everything goes eerily quiet. The shooting stops. The guards disappear. Stiles’ stomach drops like a rock, knowing that the silence can mean nothing but bad news. The street is empty, save for Jess still hiding behind the half wall. Before Stiles can get back on the radio to tell his team to clear out, a kid gets shoved out the side door. He is small, can’t be more than ten.

           

            And he has something shoved under his coat.

 

            Fuck.

 

            That is the single word floating through Stiles brain. The kid has some sort of explosive in his arms and looks fucking terrified. Of course. How could he not have seen this coming? They know that he and his team have no problem killing the adults. They know what they got themselves into. They aren’t innocent. But this kid? He most likely hasn’t got a single clue as to what he just got thrown into. They told him to take the bomb and go, probably threatened to kill his family if he refused. They know that the kid is innocent. They know Stiles knows the kid is innocent. Stiles clenches his jaw, gets back on the radio.

            “Guys, there’s a kid. He’s got a bomb of some sort and is heading toward the west corner of the building. I need every single one of you to get the fuck out of dodge. You all hear me?”

            “You sure cap?”

            “Get the fuck out of here. All of you. I’ll meet you back at camp. I don’t want any of you around if this goes south.” There are a few protests, but he sees his team move toward where the hummer is parked a few blocks away. The only one not moving is Jess. Stiles’ heart does a painful flip against his ribs. _Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead…_ “Jessie, you alright down there?”

            “Yeah, I’m good, cap. I have a clear shot from here. Take it?” Stiles doesn’t miss the way her voice breaks toward the end. He knows every single one of his team can kill off an Afghani soldier without a second thought, but they all seem apprehensive about the kid. “Cap, I need to know if I need to take this shot…”

            “Do what you think is necessary.” Stiles can’t find it in himself to make the decision for her. This is something that is going to ride on her conscience for the rest of her life. He can’t decide whether or not she pulls the trigger. There is a shifting in Stiles’ peripheral and he whips around, finger posed over the trigger.

            Chase is sneaking toward the side door while the kid creeps closer and closer to Jess’s hiding spot. The poor boy doesn’t seem to be aware that Jess is there, but that doesn’t make Stiles any more comfortable with the situation. Chase must make some sort of noise because the kid whips around to face him.

            “Lieutenant!!! I told you to fall back and get the fuck out of here. You better turn tail and run or so help me god!” The kid is backing away from Chase and right toward Jessie. Stiles wonders why she hasn’t taken the shot yet. Then he wonders why _he_ hasn’t taken the shot yet. For once, Chase seems to listen. He begins backing away, slinging his gun over his shoulder and putting his hands up to signal to the kid he means no harm. The kid starts looking around, shuffling from foot to foot.

            Jessie emerges from her hiding spot and the kid startles, but doesn’t move. Jess appears to be saying something and the boy starts to cry. Jess sets down her gun, takes off her helmet to reveal her long hair. The boys wipes his sleeve across his face, then steels his expression. _Goddamn it. The kid is a soldier. He knows exactly what he’s doing._ Even from where Stiles is perched, he can see the proud smile on the kid’s face as he pulls the bomb from under his jacket. Jessie staggers back, moves for her gun, but Stiles knows it is too late. He pulls the trigger on instinct, doesn’t even think about it. The kid crumples to the ground and Stiles’ lungs immediately feel empty. _I just killed a kid… Oh god, I just killed a kid._ Something catches Stiles’ attention and he looks back at the kid. There is a blinking light just under his left arm. Stiles yells at Jessie to run, but without her radio, she can’t hear him. She looks relieved. She looks safe, but Stiles knows better.

There’s a split second of utter silence before Stiles is ducking and covering his ears. Stiles isn’t quite sure how long he sits there, not wanting to look over the edge of the wall he’s hiding behind. He knows what’s on the other side and he’s not sure he can face it. There is a terrible ringing in his ears that he soon realizes is his entire team talking over each other on the radio. Something takes root firmly in his chest.  It has been so long since he’s felt it that it takes him a good minute to figure out that it’s panic gripping him so tightly. Somehow, Stiles manages to swallow down the impending panic attack long enough to get up and steel himself for what he knows he’ll find.

Just as Stiles thought, the scene below is ugly. No, ugly is too clean of a word for what Stiles is looking at. There are fragments of brick and metal. There are a couple piles that are still smoking. Stiles doesn’t want to think about what’s beneath the piles that is making them do that. He tries not to breathe too deeply; there’s still so much dust that hasn’t settled. Stiles’ stomach does something acrobatic when his foot makes contact with a shoe. The shoe is connected to a foot, but the foot isn’t connected to anything. It’s just there. A low groan rips Stiles’ attention away from the disembodied limb.

“Cap…” Jess’ voice washes over Stiles and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding in. The word came from a pile of rubble and it takes a second for Stiles to process things. Then he jumps into action, sprinting over to the pile and digging through it like a mad man.

“Jess… Jess! You in there? Come on, talk to me. Jess!” Stiles scrambles for his radio. “Terry! Guys! I found Jess. She’s under some rubble. Can’t be good. I need to get her out of here!” Stiles finally pulls away a large piece of concrete only to find Jess’ bloodied face beneath it. “Hey, lieutenant. We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?” Jessie barks out a dry laugh.

“Thanks for the enthusiasm, cap. But I think we both know my plane ticket just turned into a one-way.” The panic rises in Stiles’ chest again, but he chokes it down. “Guess that means I’ll get to see my dad, huh?” She coughs violently at that, more blood dripping down her chin.

“Don’t talk like that, Jess. We are going to get you out of here and you are going to go home to your mom. You got me?” She nods minutely, but doesn’t seem to believe Stiles. Jess’ eyes flutter shut and Stiles knows from experience that that can’t be good. “Hey, you gotta stay with me, okay? Keep talking. Tell me about the first thing you are going to do when you get home.” He has moved away enough rubble that he can grab her hand and squeeze it hard. Jess smiles a smile that looks more like a grimace, but opens her eyes.

“I’d take my mom out to dinner at this little restaurant on the corner by her house. I always take her there when I visit…” A nasty, wet cough forces its way out of her lungs, but she keeps talking. “She always gets the mac’n’cheese. I always get a cheeseburger. We share a piece of chocolate cake. Then I’d go visit my dad. Tell him how proud I am to honor his memory by fighting for my country.” She stops talking then, tears starting to fall down her face. Another coughing fit takes over until she is only gasping for breath. “I’m gonna die, huh, cap?” Stiles is on the very edge of a _really bad_ panic attack. “Well, like daughter like father.” Jess takes a shaky breath and squeezes Stiles’ hand to the point that he thinks she might break the bones. He doesn’t care though. “I don’t want to die, Stiles.” His heart jolts painfully at the use of his first name.

“You’re not going to die.” _Fuck, she’s dying. Goddamn it. She’s dying…_ Her breathing goes quiet for a moment and as Stiles looks up, her hand goes slack in his. “NO! Jess, stay with me. Fucking stay with me! No! You can’t… I promised I’d protect you! I promised I’d keep you alive! You can’t die!” Stiles does the only thing he knows will fend off the bile rising in the back of his throat.

 

He screams.

 

He screams until his throat is raw. He screams until there are tears streaming down his face and he can’t breathe. He feels a hand heavy on his shoulder. He blinks through angry tears to see Skip looking down at him. It makes him feel small, makes him feel vulnerable. Stiles takes a deep breath and stands, waits for Terry to come help them get Jess. Skip starts to walk away and tugs Stiles with him.

“Where are you going? We can’t just fucking leave her here!” Skip at least has the empathy to look somber.

“We have to go. We’ll come back tomorrow if we can.” A seething anger takes the place of the panic and sorrow in his gut. “Stiles, your team needs you right now. The part that’s still alive.” Stiles tucks his head at that. How could he let his team down like that? He promised to get them out alive. He should have realized it was a pie crust promise, easily made and easily broken. But he stills feels the weight of Jess’ life on his chest, the same weight he felt when Allison died. “They need to know what we are going to do next. Chase and the others are waiting at the hummer.” Stiles snaps his head up, rage setting his veins on fire. He makes sure to keep his expression carefully schooled.

“You’re right. We can’t stick around too long. We don’t know when they will come back.” Skip look slightly surprised that Stiles doesn’t put up much more of a fight. “Let’s go.”

 

They get to the hummer and bile rises in Stiles’ throat once again. Chase is leaning against the side of the truck, not looking even slightly phased by what just went down. The rest of his team at least looks ruffled or sad. But the fucker is just standing there, one boot tucked up against the tire. Stiles knows he should wait until they get back to base, where they will be safe. But something in the back of his brain snaps when Chase doesn’t even acknowledge Stiles’ questions about what happened to following orders.

“We lost someone today! Do you fucking understand that? Jessie is _dead_. She doesn’t get to go home. And you want to know something?” Chase at least looks a little scared. “It is _your fault_. It should be you under that pile of bricks. You should be the one that never gets to see his family again.”

“Captain…” Mac murmurs, but Stiles ploughs right on.

“No, this _child_ needs to understand that there are consequences to his actions. You are going to write the letter to her mother. You better start thinking of ways to tell a mother that her only daughter is never coming home because you decided that you don’t know how to follow orders. I don’t know about you, but I figure that will be a pretty damn fucking hard situation to explain to a grieving mother. Did Jessie ever tell you that her dad got killed on 9/11?” Chase flinches at that and Stiles sneers. “Another family member buried under rubble, never to come home. Good luck, Lieutenant.” Stiles has to bite his tongue hard so the tears burning the back of his eyes don’t spill over. He can’t be commanding if there are tears streaming down his face. Stiles doesn’t remember the last time he felt anger this strong. Maybe when he figured out that Jennifer had betrayed them all. No, not even then. His hands are shaking and he feels nauseous. So, he just gets into the hummer and waits for the rest of his team to follow.

 

Stiles is sitting under the lone tree and trying not to throw up at the memory of Jess’ blood on his hands. Someone clears their throat behind him and he figures it’s Skip trying to check if he’s okay. Stiles isn’t in the mood for his fatherly advice, so he ignores it. The ache in Stiles’ chest from losing the closest thing he has to a best friend is spreading to the rest of his body.   

“Uh, cap?” It’s not Skip that is standing behind him and trying to get his attention. It’s Chase. A flare of anger s through Stiles again.

“What is it, lieutenant?”

“I just… I wanted to talk to you about this morning… I wanted to say I’m sorry…” Stiles stands up and is in front of Chase before he can even tell his brain to react. Chase tucks his head and some part of Stiles’ ego swells at how scared his lieutenant seems to be of him right now.

“Really? You choose now to apologize? You wait until your ignorance gets someone killed to say sorry for blatantly disregarding my orders? You have got to be fucking kidding, Chase. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than an apology to come back from that. You’d be lucky if I didn’t talk to the general and get your ass kicked out of here. No honorable discharge for your sorry ass.” Chase’s fists are clenched at his sides and his shoulders are shaking. If Stiles isn’t mistaken, he thinks Chase might be crying. “You have no right to mourn her death. She is dead because of you…”

“You think I don’t know that?! Jessie was my friend, too! You don’t know what went on before you got here. We were closer than anyone. But as soon as you showed up, she only had eyes for the fucking captain. She tried talking to me about you. Asked me if she thought she might have a chance once we got out of this fucking mess.” _Oh god… He thinks I took her from him… That’s why he never listened. He was trying to prove himself to her. Fuck._

“Chase, you’ve got to understand. I didn’t take her from you… I was doing my job and being a good captain by communicating with my team and learning how they worked best together. And besides…” Chase lifts the hem of his t-shirt and scrubs his face, trying to destroy evidence of the tears on his cheeks. “I’m gay.” Chase’s head snaps up at that, looking slightly confused.

“You know what? I feel like I knew that…” Stiles actually laughs at that. “And I’m like 99% sure Mac and Den sneak off to fuck each other when they think no one is paying attention…” Stiles legitimately chokes on his own spit and Chase has to clap him on the back to get him to breathe normally again. “I mean, whatever floats your boat, just don’t lie to me about it… I don’t give a shit where you prefer to put your dick.” Stiles is extremely surprised at how open-minded Chase seems to be. He figured Chase would be the type of guy that went to church with his parents, wife, and six kids every Sunday; preached that homosexuality is an inhuman sin. Clearly, Stiles misjudged him. They fall into silence after that and Stiles doesn’t have a clue what to say. “I miss her already…”

“Yeah, me too…  I miss her laugh.”

“And her smile… I know she is… was the only girl on base, but I still think if I met her outside of all this that I’d have fallen for her just the same.” Stiles lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, remembers consoling Scott after the Nogitsune in the same manner. “You were right, you know.”

“About what?”

“That it’s my fault she’s dead…” Stiles’ chest tightens  painfully at how utterly crushed Chase looks. “I should have listened to you… I just… I couldn’t handle the fact that you just waltzed in here and took over. I’d been working my ass off trying to show Skip and the others that I could be a leader. Then they brought in this little cadet barely out of training who knew exactly what he was doing… It was hard to accept the fact that you are better at my job than I ever was…”

“Chase, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry with myself for not protecting my team like I promised I would. I was looking for someone to blame and you happened to be the first person I found. So, I apologize if I put any extra guilt on you. Because this is on me and me only.” Chase actually smiles at him and the weight on Stiles’ chest lightens just slightly. “I think we are going to go back tomorrow and try to do some damage control. Think you can handle that, lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

“Okay, guys. Looks pretty dead, but don’t be fooled. We know quiet isn’t a good thing. Let’s move in.” Stiles is in the same position he was in when… when yesterday happened. It’s a good vantage point and Stiles knows how to protect his team now.

“Cap, there’s no one here. It’s completely empty…” Chase sounds skeptical, but for the first time since Stiles arrived, he actually seems to be listening to orders. Stiles feels wary about the lack of action after everything, but gives his team the go-ahead to move into the building. “Jake, let’s go follow them in. It’s way to fucking quiet.” Jake nods and packs up his station, stashing the extra bag under an eave.

They get through the front door with no problems. Chase is right. There doesn’t seem to be a single person in the entire building besides his team. Each of them filter through the building, searching each room for the supposed weapons being stored here. Stiles knows that it’s almost a guarantee that the weapons were moved over night, due to their raid yesterday, but it never hurts to check, right? The building looks like it has been abandoned for years, not less than 24 hours. It is pretty clear that there is no one here and it makes Stiles relax just a little. There are papers strewn about and a few tables that are lying on their sides. There are coffee cans filled with cigarettes and cigars. Who knew they had Foldger’s over here? Stiles kicks over a can and something below him crashes loudly.

“Guys, any of you in the basement?” He holds onto his gun just a little tighter, used to expecting the worst. “Guys! Did one of you just knock shit over in the basement?!” Again, his radio is silent. Stiles rips it out of his pocket and is faced with a little red blinking light that means his radio is dead. “Jesus Christ. That’s fucking convenient.” Stiles continues to kick through things until he reaches the door to what he thinks is the basement. Another loud crash sounds behind the door followed by a loud scream that sounds too close to Skip for Stiles to be comfortable. Stiles takes a deep breath and kicks the door open, gun ready.

There’s a set of rickety stairs that descend into almost complete darkness. When he reaches the bottom, Stiles tries to figure out where Skip might be. There is one light in the whole room. Skip is directly under it, on his knees. With a gun at his temple. His right cheek has a large bruise blooming on it that tells Stiles he at least tried to fight back. Stiles can’t see beyond the reach of the light. He has no idea how many guys are in the room or how many of them might have guns.

“Put your gun down or your comrade’s life will come to a quick end. Just as the woman did yesterday.” The voice is rough and heavily accented, but Stiles understands every word with startling clarity. Stiles follows the order and sets his gun on the ground, taking a step back from it. A kid, not even fifteen, runs over and grabs his gun, immediately pointing it back at Stiles. “Very good. Now, I will let your little soldier go, on one condition.”

“Oh I can’t wait to hear this…” Skip’s snarky remark gets him smacked by the butt of the gun pointed at his head. “Fucker…” he mutters under his breath.

“What do you want?” Stiles clenches his hands into fists to hide the fact that they are shaking. In all his time here, he has never been in this close of proximity with any of the enemy. It’s making his stomach do terrified flips and his heart feels like it’s trying to jump out of his chest and run away. A man steps into the light and smiles at Stiles. He has short dark hair and a beard, but is wearing a short-sleeved maroon shirt and khakis. _God this place is so fucking weird…_ Stiles thinks to himself. Stiles thinks he hears someone coming down the stairs, but does his best not to react. The man laughs heartily and it makes Stiles’ skin crawl. He grabs at Skip’s jaw and makes Skip look at him.

“This one knows what I want.” Skip spits in the man’s face and is hit so hard that he topples forward onto his hands. “I hear you are a captain. That means you have higher levels of clearance than this sad excuse for a soldier.” Stiles’ stomach turns even harder at the implications of the man’s words. “You know more than this one. Now that you are here, he is utterly useless to me… But I am feeling merciful today and will let him go, if you are willing to take his place.” Skip’s head snaps up from where he is kneeling. His eyes are wide and angry.

“Why?” Stiles’ question is answered with that hollow laugh once again.

“Information is power in war. You should know that. Isn’t that why you showed up here in the first place? To get information on who supplies our efforts?” Stiles fleetingly wonders how this man could possibly know that, but then two pairs of boots are thundering down the stairs. Mac and Jake are holding their guns and pointing them at the man.

“You are outnumbered and out-gunned. Drop your gun and put your hands up.”

“You Americans are so cute. You honestly think this kid is the only protection I have?” The kid who took Stiles’ gun looks slightly indignant and the man’s lack of confidence in him. Stiles would roll his eyes if he were in any other situation. Six men step into the light, each holding large guns. Stiles gulps, but keeps his expression carefully schooled. “You two, out.” Mac and Jake share a glance, but stand their ground.

“Listen to him. We’ll handle it.” They look like they are about to argue, but they give in and back their way up the staircase. “Skip, you are going to listen to me. You’re not going to like it, but you are going to do it anyway. Understood?” Skip nods and the man demanding information looks really amused. “Get up, walk out of this room. Take everyone else back to base. Don’t come back.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, cap! You can’t let them take you! For fuck’s sake I’m not worth…” A shot echoes through the basement and makes Stiles’ ears ring. He doesn’t want to look, but he knows he needs to. Stiles has to swallow down bile that threatens to choke him when he sees Skip sprawled out on the dirt floor, a very clear bullet wound in his right temple. Stiles takes comfort in the fact that they made it quick, that Skip didn’t suffer.

“How did I not see that coming, you son of a bitch?”

“Well, I find predictability entertaining. What can I say?” _Bring it on._ “So, let’s see what we can squeeze out of this little one.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Two Months Later**

 

Derek is sitting at the kitchen table of the Stilinksi home, staring at his plate, pushing his food around and not actually eating any of it. He has gotten into a habit of coming over for dinner with John once a week since Stiles left. They usually eat whatever Derek cooks, drink a few beers and watch a sports game. This time is different though. John is extremely quiet and the waves of utter distress are making Derek feel a little sick. He wants to ask. He wants to ask so badly, but he has no idea how. He and John’s friendship is still a little timid. The two of them don’t talk about deep things. They bullshit about work. They talk about the pack, but not in depth. So, Derek has no idea how to bring up the fact that he has never smelled emotions so strong rolling off the sheriff. 

“Spit it out, son. I can hear the wheels in your brain turning.” Derek clears his throat, continues to push food around his plate. “Something is clearly bothering you. I think I know you well enough to know your thinking face. So, what is it?”

“It’s just… You smell really upset… I don’t mean to shove my nose where is doesn’t belong, but I can’t really help it.” John sighs, sets his fork down. “Sorry, sir. You don’t need to talk about it.”

“No, I need to tell somebody before it kills me. Have you heard from Stiles lately?” Derek thinks back on the last letter he wrote to Stiles. The last one he can think of was almost six weeks ago. Usually it takes Stiles only a few to write back. Derek hadn’t thought anything of it, but now it makes him very worried. When did he get to the point where he worried about the gangly teenager that trespassed on his property to look for an inhaler? He figures it was a long time ago.

“No, sir, I haven’t. But I feel like you know why that might be?” John nods, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m sure Stiles has told you about his team?” Derek nods and waits for the sheriff to continue. “They went on a raid to get information on a possible weapon source. It went south; he lost a team member, Jessie.” Derek remembers that name. The girl on Stiles’ team. He remembered thinking she sounded like her and Cora would get along too well for anyone’s safety. She sounded strong and brave. She sounded like Allison. Derek’s heart twists uncomfortably at learning that Stiles lost the closest thing to a best friend he had over there. “I got a call last week…” Derek’s heart does this weird flippy thing that he can’t quite identify, but he knows it’s not good. “They went back the day after the raid and one of Stiles’ team got captured… They used him as a bargaining chip to get to Stiles. He is a captain and has more information than the rest of his team. They wanted him… He took his comrade’s place and went with them… His team has been trying to find him for the past month and a half…” Derek suddenly feels like he is going to throw up. Derek knows that the chances of Stiles being alive are not good. They likely killed him when he gave up his weapon.

“Who knows?”

“You. I haven’t had the heart to tell anyone else… I think Scott just assumes I miss Stiles because he didn’t react to my scent the same way you did. I don’t think he is nearly as good at the whole smelling thing as you are.” Derek feels a little pride at that.

“It’s because he was bitten. Born wolves have better senses than bitten wolves.” John nods and remains silent. “I could talk to Scott, if you wanted. I know I’m still not good with words, but Scott and I have a unique bond. Maybe it’ll be easier for me to tell the pack?” John nods again, gives Derek a grateful smile.

“Thanks, son. You want to watch the game still?”

“Yeah. I need something to zone out on.”

 

 

Telling the pack is actually way easier than Derek anticipated. There are a lot of tears, but Derek expected that. Scott smells angry and tired. Malia and Kira smell worried. Lydia smells furious. Jordon and Liam just smell sad. Derek herds everyone onto the couch. He makes sure Scott is in the middle and in contact with everyone. Derek puts some random movie into the DVD player Stiles made him buy a few years ago. He squishes between Liam and Malia and immediately finds both of them snuggling closer to him. A few years ago, he would have growled and shoved them away. But today, the contact and pack smells calm his wolf just slightly. For the first time since his dinner with John, his wolf is curled up and content.

After the movie is over, the pack just kind of stays put. Derek understands. He doesn’t want to be alone at the moment, which is still a little new for him. It’s a good thing he upgraded to a California king mattress last year.

“Come on guys.” At least three of the pack members sigh with relief. Derek gets up, paws (hehe) through his dresser, pulling out sweatpants and t-shirts. Everyone piles onto his bed when they are changed. It takes a little while for all of the limbs to get situated, but eventually, everyone gets comfortable and begins to fall asleep.

Lydia is the one that ends up pressed into Derek’s side. Their friendship that has formed since she left high school still surprises him most days. He can tell by her heartbeat that she isn’t asleep either. Derek turns to look at where her head is pillowed on Jordan’s chest.

“I miss him…” Lydia mutters, clearly recognizing that her and Derek are the only two awake. “He should be here with us, not in that god awful place.” She is speaking so quietly that Derek has to actually concentrate on her words to hear them. Lydia turns over and Derek is met with a teary-eyed girl he isn’t sure he’s seen before. “What happens if he doesn’t come home?”

“I don’t know, Lydia, I don’t know.” He slings an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him. “You just have to tell yourself that he is going to come home…” She nods and she finally relaxes enough to fall asleep. Derek doesn’t though. He remains awake, wondering what in the hell he will do if his best friend doesn’t come home.

 

 

Derek is sitting at his kitchen island with a bowl of cherrios (what? The honey nut ones are delicious.) when his phone rings loudly, startling him slightly. He glances at the caller ID and reads the sheriff’s name.

“What’s up, John?” Hyperventilating comes over the line and Derek is immediately out of his chair and grabbing his keys and jacket. “I’m on my way, John. Don’t hang up, alright?” A weird noise comes over the line and Derek takes it as an affirmation of his words. There are only a few thoughts running through Derek’s brain and none of them are good. Either John is finally having that heart attack that Stiles tried so hard to prevent or he got the call that the entire pack has been waiting for since Stiles left on that plane eight months ago.

He pulls into the sheriff’s driveway and comes crashing through the front door, claws and fangs at the ready. The sight that meets him literally knocks the wind from his lungs. Derek has to grab a hold of the countertop so he doesn’t fall to the ground. His heart is clenching and his ribcage feels too tight for his lungs.

Stiles is sitting at the kitchen table. Well, something that smells like Stiles, but doesn’t really look like him. This kid is too skinny and gaunt. He looks far too scared to be the confident, brave young man that Derek sent on a plane all those months ago. Derek knows he shouldn’t, but his wolf pulls him across the room to reach out for Stiles. Derek’s wolf howls forlornly when Stiles recoils from his quick movements.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry…” Derek’s brain is reeling. How can this be his Stiles? How can this be the snarky, annoyingly brave kid who has saved Derek’s life more often than he deserves? What the _hell_ happened over there? The question is right on the tip of Derek’s tongue, but he bites down hard to keep the words in. “I’ll go… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have…” Words are getting stuck in a way they haven’t for years. The sheriff just gives him a sad smile and Derek turns to leave. His wolf is scratching under his skin, needing to break free and run.

“Derek, wait…” Derek whips around so quickly he’s pretty sure he hears his own neck crack slightly. He stays quiet, petrified by the large brown eyes staring at him. “Uh… I… It’s okay. I’m just a little jumpy, so don’t move too fast alright? No wolf speed for awhile.” Stiles offers him a smile, but Derek sees right through it.

“I hate to do this, but I have to go into the station tonight. Call me if you need anything. I’ll get my deputies to cover or I’ll send Jordon, okay?” Stiles nods and Derek can smell panic oozing from Stiles. It makes his lungs itch. John gives Stiles a tight hug and a pat on the shoulder before leaving the room. Stiles doesn’t say anything, so Derek is left standing in the kitchen with his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides.

“You can talk, you know. I’m not gonna freak out, promise.” Derek apologizes and asks if Stiles wants him to leave. “Do you honestly think I want to be alone with my thoughts right now?” Stiles gets up and moves to the living room. He puts Star Wars into the DVD player and pulls the old quilt off the back of his dad’s chair. When Stiles pats the couch next to him, Derek doesn’t even try to resist. The quilt smells like someone vaguely familiar, but Derek can’t place it. Then it hits him that it smells like Claudia. He does his best to ignore the way Stiles pushes his face into the worn fabric, taking a deep breath. Derek sits rigid, not really sure what to do, but knowing to keep at least a little distance between Stiles and himself. “Come here, sourwolf. If you think any harder, you’re gonna pull something.”

“I wasn’t….”

“Shut up and come here.” Derek scoots over to close the distance between the two of them. Stiles throws the blanket over both of them and draws his knees up to his chest. “Go on, I know it’s killing you not to.” It should annoy Derek that Stiles knows him so well even after being away for so long. But Derek lets his wolf have this and moves to scent Stiles. An array of emotions comes through. Fear, sadness, pain. It makes Derek’s hackles rise. He pulls away, but Stiles moves with him, tucking his head against Derek’s shoulder. He quickly falls asleep on Derek’s shoulder, happiness oozing out of him.

Derek feels bad, but he really needs to get home and do some research on some stupid thing Deaton asked him about. So, when the movie credits start rolling, Derek eases out from under Stiles and writes him a quick note before slipping out the front door.

Derek is home for a little over a half hour, before there is a knock at the door. He figures it’s not pack, they never knock. But when the door rolls open, Stiles has a bag slung over his shoulder, standing at the door quietly; something that Derek really isn’t used to. “Uh, hi. Are you okay?” Stiles just shakes his head and steps inside. “You can take the bed upstairs if you want. There are extra blankets in the closet…” Derek can’t remember the last time he felt this awkward around Stiles. He has never had to tip-toe around him or watch what he says and it is beginning to throw Derek for a major loop. “The bathroom is upstairs on the left…”

“Derek…”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to treat me like I am going to break. You of all people should know that I’m stronger than that. Yeah, being over there fucked me up a little, but so has a lot of stuff that has happened here. So if you could stop being so weird, it would honestly make it easier on me.” Derek feels a smile push across his lips as he follows Stiles upstairs and Stiles gives him an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… That’s the most like the old you you’ve been…” Stiles just rolls his eyes and flops onto the mattress. Derek sits next to him, but is still careful not to touch Stiles. The panic hits Derek like a brick and for a second he is stunned. Then Stiles is curling in on himself and his breathing is picking up. “Stiles… Stiles. What do I need to do? What’s wrong?” As soon as the panic hits, it’s dissipating and Stiles is sitting up and running fingers through his hair. “Am I allowed to ask?”

“You are… It’s just… Memories come back every once in awhile that I would rather not relive. Some are worse than others.” Derek reaches out, but pulls his hand back. “You know it’s not you I’m scared of, right? I haven’t been scared of you for years. But after going through something like I did, it kind of gets ingrained into your brain that people are only there to hurt you… So, it’s going to take me awhile to get used to people not wanting me to constantly be in pain. Just give me some time, alright?” Derek nods and moves to put Stiles’ bag on his dresser. “Can I tell you something?” Derek makes an affirmative noise, trying not to seem like he is hanging on every word. He starts fiddling with the corner of a book, waits for Stiles to speak again. “You and the pack are what kept me alive.” Derek drops the book, causing it to clatter to the ground. He isn’t sure why that surprises him, but it does. “There were days where I was so close to just giving up, to giving in and letting go… But I would start thinking about the pack, about how much we have all been through. I couldn’t just give up… That’s not what the McCall pack does.” The air goes bitter and Derek doesn’t want to think about what Stiles might be reliving.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to…”

“Derek, you know I always talk my way through things.”

 

If Stiles thought that the nightmares from the nogitsune were bad, he had another thing coming. He is glad that Derek said he was going to stay up for awhile because Stiles wakes up screaming three times within the first couple hours. Every time, Derek is at his side in a second, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe. Stiles appreciates that Derek doesn’t ask what he dreams about. He only focuses on making Stiles feel safe again, then goes back downstairs and continues reading through some old dusty book.

“Derek? Can you come here?” Derek is back at his side in a heartbeat and Stiles tries his hardest not to flinch. “Do you think that you could stay?” Stiles shouldn’t feel awkward about asking this of Derek, but for some reason there is this thing in the back of his brain that’s making him nervous, like Derek might say no. Of course, he doesn’t. He just crawls under the covers and pulls Stiles tightly to his chest. And for the first time in months, Stiles actually sleeps for longer than a few hours.

 

Scott and Kira show up the next day and Stiles does his best not to freak out when they run to him and hug him so hard he thinks his bones creak under the pressure. The two of them immediately step back and start apologizing. Derek pushes them both away, which Stiles is entirely too grateful for. They shuffle out the door, continuing to apologize. Stiles still doesn’t understand how two people who are so incredibly similar work so well.

 

When Derek goes to leave for a trip to the store, Stiles asks to go with him under the pretense of making sure Derek buys the right kind of poptarts. He is almost certain that Derek knows he just doesn’t want to be left alone, though. The car ride is quiet and Derek surprises Stiles when he starts humming along to some pop song that Stiles doesn’t recognize. Stiles just stares at him and when the wolf asks him what’s wrong, he just laughs and shakes his head. Who knew sourwolf liked Ariana Grande? Or was that Ke$ha? Man, Stiles really needs to catch up on his pop music. The fact that Derek knows more current music than he does makes him feel a little weird, but he can’t help but laugh at the wolf when he knows all the words to an old Justin Timberlake song. Derek’s excuse is that he was ‘great back in the day’. Stiles calls him old and gets a loud growl for the comment.

They pull into the store parking lot and Stiles’ hand tightens on the door handle of its own accord. Derek throws him a look, clearly smelling the sudden fear, but Stiles just shrugs it off. He struts into the store like he owns the place, but almost immediately, there is too much noise and too many people. Stiles can feel the heat of Derek hovering at his left shoulder, not touching him, but close by regardless. With slight panic, Stiles realizes that this is the first time he has been around more than three people at one time since he was found. At least while he was conscious.

There are too many people talking too loudly. There are too many children screaming that sound too much like kids who were caught in the crossfire of a fire fight. There is just _too much_. But Stiles is determined to get his old life back. Where he could sleep alone; where he could play videogames with Scott without having a panic attack when a droid explodes in the background; where he could go to the grocery store without having an emotional meltdown. So he digs his fingernails into his palms and breathes deeply, attempting to tune out all of the extra noise. Derek still isn’t saying anything, just leading Stiles through the aisles and grabbing various products off the shelves.

Stiles is actually proud of himself because he manages to stay calm while Derek finishes finding all the things on his list (yes, the dork actually has a list of groceries that he is crossing off with a pen). His hands are relaxed and Derek lets him push the cart. At one point, he even runs and grabs two boxes of strawberry poptarts. Anyone who says the cherry ones are better is severely mistaken. When Stiles tosses them into a cart, the wolf’s eyebrows raise, but Stiles gives him a face that he hopes comes across as ‘say something, I dare you’. It works and the wolf wisely stays silent. Stiles is beginning to actually feel normal. He isn’t flinching at every single noise. He isn’t wondering who might be planning on harming him or Derek. He isn’t concerned about how he can get out if something goes wrong. Those things are still in the back of his mind, but they aren’t completely consuming him. So, he considers that a success. Things are going smoothly and Derek has finally stopped constantly side-eyeing him.

Until they are moving to check out and an elderly lady pushes her cart into a display of soup cans, causing them to crash in every direction. Stiles’ body reacts before he even tells it to. The next thing he knows, he is crouched against the shelving, covering his head with his hands and shaking like a leaf. Derek moves next to him, setting a light hand on his shoulder.

“Stiles… It’s okay. You are safe. No one is here to hurt you. It was just an accident. You’re safe, I promise.” Stiles picks his head up and glances around. There are around fifteen people standing around, as well as four employees who came to help clean up the mess. All of them are staring at Stiles; even the old lady who caused the whole thing. One of the employees walks up and asks Derek if Stiles is okay. “Yeah, he is. He just… has a hard time with loud noises…” The girl gets a sad look on her face and Stiles can’t take it anymore. He shoves Derek away and stands, clenching his hands into fists to try and stop the shaking. Everyone is still staring and something sets fire to Stiles’ blood. Anger takes over and Stiles starts to see red. _How can they look at me like that? Don’t they understand how much I sacrificed for them to be safe and free?_

“What the hell are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen someone with PTSD from watching his fellow soldiers getting blown to pieces? Or is this all just some show to you? You have _no idea_ what we go through to keep your ungrateful asses free and safe.” Derek sets his hand on Stiles’ shoulder again, but Stiles shrugs it off. “ _Don’t_ ,” he snarls. As he storms out of the store, he hears Derek apologize and come after him. It doesn’t cool his temper in any way.

Again, the car ride is dead silent. Derek doesn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Stiles is still shaking from his panic attack and residual anger. Derek has his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. As the anger fades away, sorrow and shame take its place.

“How could you not say anything?” The words come out as a whisper, but Stiles had meant to yell them. “How could you just stand there while they all looked at me like I was some sad, broken thing that shouldn’t be allowed out in public? How could you do that to me?” Stiles absolutely hates the way his voice shakes, revealing that he is on the verge of tears. “You don’t understand what it feels like to have people stare at you like that. It makes me feel weak and pathetic. It makes me feel like I am some sub-human thing that doesn’t understand how to function in society. It’s like I am a little kid who hasn’t learned how to behave properly yet. But I can’t fucking help it! Do people think I want this? That I want to relive my _friends_ dying over and over and over? That I want completely normal things to send me into complete panic? Because news flash, it really fucking sucks.” Stiles doesn’t realize he is crying until he tastes salt and his breathing starts being affected. “Say something!” Derek flinches and tightens his hands on the wheel until it creaks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Stiles. Because I don’t know what you are going through. Yeah, I have had some pretty traumatic stuff happen to me, but I have never been through what you went through. I am able to go through life normally because there aren’t memories that haunt me every second of every day. So, I don’t know what you want me to say. The best I can do is just be here to make sure that you know you are safe. That’s the only thing I know how to do. I’m sorry…” Oh god, Stiles is such an asshole. He just snapped at the only person who has put any effort into making him feel better since he has been home. Derek has acted as though being woken up by screams on an hourly basis every single night doesn’t bother him. He acts like it’s nothing when he drops what he is doing to comfort Stiles through a panic attack or a bad memory. No one else has done that. Not even Scott… Stiles is officially a terrible person.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I just get fed up with being like this and not having control over my own head. After the nogitsune, I swore I was going to be in control the rest of my life, that I would never let something have rein over me again, but here I am, stifled by my own fear. I shouldn’t take it out on you when you are the only one putting any effort into making sure I don’t go completely crazy. So, I’m sorry… you know, for being a dick… I just get frustrated when people don’t understand that the war doesn’t end when the soldiers go home. It is a lifelong battle and not everyone survives. I wish more people would appreciate that…” Stiles lets his head thump against the window, suddenly exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the last half hour.

“I should have said something… Not apologized. An apology means you were at fault and you weren’t. If anything, that old lady was. How did she even get to the store? I really hope she didn’t drive, cause she’ll crash into something much worse than a soup display…” Stiles snorts out a laugh and catches Derek’s smirk in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you, Derek, for looking out for me.”

“You’re pack. I have to.” Derek smirks again and Stiles calls him a dick before going back to staring out the windshield. When they get home, if Stiles eats two packages of strawberry poptarts, Derek doesn’t say anything.

Stiles adopts a habit of going to Derek’s whenever his dad has to go to work. Which is pretty much every day. Derek is usually home, sitting on the couch or on the bed in the corner reading. Sometimes Stiles finds him watching a documentary on the TV the pack forced him to buy at the end of senior year. How do you have pack sleepovers without watching movies? You don’t, that’s how. So, that is how Stiles finds himself curled on the couch one day, forcing Derek to watch ‘Friends’ in its entirety because it’s now on Netflix and why not? The wolf grumbles about it, but Stiles hears him laugh at the jokes.

“Stiles, can I ask you something?” Derek speaks up while the next episode is loading and Stiles sits up from where his head is pillowed on Derek’s thigh. “Why do you always come here? And it’s not that I don’t like having you, it’s just, I’m curious. Why don’t you go see Scott or Lydia sometimes?” Derek does look genuinely curious and Stiles feels more comfortable now that he knows he isn’t completely intruding on Derek’s life.

“You don’t ask questions. You let me talk when I need to and realize when I really don’t. I love Scott to death, but he is lousy at picking that stuff up. I was hoping being a werewolf would improve that, but clearly it didn’t. He just wants to talk about everything, wants to know what happened while I was away. And I am not ready to talk about it yet. Lydia does the same thing. She wants to analyze everything and figure out the psychological reason for me being a complete wreck. I love them both, but I like the quiet I get when I’m with you.” Derek seems content with that answer and goes back to playing with Stiles’ hair and watching Rachel and Phoebe squabble over something pointless. “Plus, Kira and Scott together are too much to handle for more than like an hour…” Derek chuckles knowingly. After this long, those two are still sweet enough to give people cavities. Stiles does his best to limit his exposure to the tooth-rotting cuteness.

A few days later, Stiles is napping on the couch and doesn’t hear the door of the loft roll open.  

_There is a dirty rag over his eyes and he can smell blood. Stiles isn’t sure whose blood it is, but he’ll bet it’s his own. There are a set of hands that come around his shoulders from behind and he immediately spins and pins whoever it is, his hands at their throat. A voice is yelling his name and he fleetingly wonders how they know his name. Then another pair of hands are at his shoulders, stronger than the first and trying to tug him off of whoever he’s choking. They succeed and Stiles tries to fight them off, but whoever it is, is much stronger than he is._

_“Stiles!!!_ Stiles!! It’s Lydia! You’re safe! It’s okay!” Stiles’ vision is slightly blurry, but he realizes it’s Derek holding him back. And then he sees Lydia coughing and breathing roughly on the floor. Stiles is 99% sure he is going to throw up. There are already bruises blooming across her neck from his hands. How could he have done that to her?

“I… I’m so sorry…” Stiles grabs his keys from the hook on the wall and runs out the door. Derek and Lydia are both yelling his name, but he can barely hear them over the blood rushing in his ears. Luckily, Roscoe starts up immediately. Stiles is worried that Derek will catch up and try to talk to him. All Stiles wants is to be alone. He just hurt one of the most important people in his life. _I could have_ killed _her… I almost did kill her…_ Stiles keeps driving, not really knowing where he’s headed. Eventually he ends up somewhere in the preserve. He cuts Roscoe’s engine and allows the panic to finally take over.

How much time passes, Stiles has no idea. It could be ten minutes, it could be two hours. The panic subsides and leaves exhaustion in its place. Something scratches at his door, making him jump. When Stiles swings the door open, there is a large black wolf with electric blue eyes staring at him. It pushes its muzzle into his hand and he scratches behind its ear. He’s about to ask how Derek found him, but he thinks he already knows the answer.

“Hey, big guy… Is… Is Lydia okay?” Derek just huffs and licks the inside of Stiles’ wrist. “Is she still there? Because I don’t think I can face her yet…” That earns him a low growl. “I think I have some gym shorts in here still, hold on.” Stiles roots around for a moment and comes up with some old basketball shorts that smell awful even to his human nose. Derek gives him an annoyed look, but takes the shorts in his mouth anyway. A few moments later, human Derek is at Stiles’ door.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of the car, Stiles.” Stiles is certain that was Derek’s alpha voice. He isn’t sure how it works on the other wolves, since Derek is a beta now, but he finds himself following the order. “Look at me. Lydia doesn’t blame you for what happened, okay? If anything, she blames herself. She should have known not to sneak up on you, especially when you are asleep. She triggered something and it is not your fault, understand?” Stiles just nods, a little confused by Derek giving him the ‘don’t feel guilty for something that’s not your fault’ speech. Sometimes Stiles forgets that Derek finally came to terms with the fact that he isn’t responsible for the death of his family. “I’ll drive home, you still seem pretty shaken.” Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Derek shuts him down. “No, let me drive. Lydia went home and said she would call later.” Stiles groans loudly and swears he sees Derek smirk as he rounds the passenger side.

Stiles stays quiet during the ride home, too caught up in reliving memories to notice when Derek asks him something.

“What? Sorry… I’m a little out of it.”

“I asked if you wanted to talk about what triggered the memory…” Derek grips the steering wheel and looks nervous. Stiles doesn’t like it. He and Derek are supposed to be comfortable with each other. They are supposed to be able to talk about anything.

“Uh… It’s because she covered my eyes… Half the time I was over there I spent blindfolded so I wouldn’t know who was looking for answers. Actually, it was probably more than half. Anyway… She just snuck up on me and caught me off guard. It doesn’t take much to send me back.” Derek’s hand moves to Stiles’ shoulder, a now familiar weight that makes Stiles breathe just a little easier. It makes something come loose in his chest. When Derek’s hand moves to rest on his thigh, thumb rubbing little circles, it doesn’t even phase Stiles. He’s getting used to this new Derek again. “Can I ask you something?” Derek nods, keeps his eyes on the road. “What would you say if I asked if I could have the spare bedroom at the loft?” A small smile creeps its way onto Derek’s lips. Stiles takes that as a yes.

 

“I want to have a pack meeting.” Derek lifts his head from where it’s resting against the arm of the couch. “I know I still have a lot of things to work through, but I need my pack. Maybe it’ll help me feel better if I know I’ve got support?” Derek just smiles and shoves his feet back under Stiles’ leg. Something flip flops around in Stiles’ chest. He calls it nerves.

The next night, Stiles finds himself sitting on the couch on the brink of another panic attack. There is going to be like seven people in the loft and that is more than Stiles has been around in months. He isn’t sure how he is going to react, but if the catch in his throat is anything to go by, it won’t be good. As usual, Derek smells his panic and is by his side quickly. Derek runs through the mantra of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you’re safe’ until Stiles’ heart is no longer threatening to jump out of his throat. Stiles tucks his head against Derek’s chest and tries to prepare himself for the onslaught of attention and affection he’s about to face.

A knock at the door breaks the two out of their calm little bubble. Derek gives him a look that Stiles reads as ‘Are you sure about this?’ and Stiles just nods. Derek crosses the room and opens the door to reveal Liam, looking sheepish.

“Hey kid.” Derek ruffles his hair and Liam snaps his jaws, laughing. Liam glances at Stiles, clearly not knowing what he’s supposed to do. Stiles just opens his arms. Liam moves quickly into the hug and shoves his face into Stiles’ neck. At least that Stiles is prepared for. What he isn’t prepared for are the few small whines Liam lets out.

“I missed you, too, buddy.” Stiles thinks, not for the first time, that Liam was meant to be a wolf, was meant to have a pack. After Liam settles onto the couch, Scott and Kira show up with Malia in tow. Stiles receives the same tight hugs and scenting he got from Liam. Malia kisses his cheek and he rests their foreheads together for just a moment. Lydia is the last to show up and Stiles can’t ignore the fact that she is wearing a fluffy scarf looped around her neck. When he moves to hug her, Stiles doesn’t miss the way she flinches but tries very hard to hide it. It makes his head swim and he excuses himself to run upstairs. He hears the top step creak, knows who it will be. “I just need a minute, Derek. I can’t face her right now… She is so scared of me… Lydia isn’t afraid of anything… I can’t believe I am finally the monster that made the great Lydia Martin fear for her life…” Stiles pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to fight the tears scratching at the back of his throat.

“You know I don’t blame you, right?” Lydia is standing in the doorway, eyes wet. “I need you to know that I don’t blame you. Because if you keep running from me, I might have to kill you.” Stiles huffs out a laugh and pats the bed next to him. “I’m the one that should be sorry, anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking trying to surprise you when you were sleeping… I should have known better.”

“It’s okay, lyds.”

“No, it’s not, but I promise not to sneak up on you again, okay?” Stiles nods, pulls her down onto the bed and hugs her tightly. The top stair creaks again, a telltale sign that someone has come to check on the two of them. The bed dips under another person’s weight and Scott is curling around Stiles’ back and slinging an arm over both him and Lydia. Kira must have followed Scott upstairs because she worms her way in between Stiles and Scott. Stiles gives it two minutes before Liam comes wandering up, looking for his alpha. The kid kind of has separation issues…

Sure enough, within thirty seconds, Liam is flopping down on top of Scott, sighing happily when the alpha scents him. Malia trails in and snuggles up to Lydia, which makes Stiles think. _When did they get so buddy-buddy?_

“You guys okay up there?” Derek’s voice floats up the staircase and Stiles smiles to himself.

“We’d be better if you were up here, sourwolf.” Stiles feels Kira laugh into his neck. A few years ago, Stiles would have expected the wolf to just stay downstairs and appreciate the quiet. Now he knows that it will only be a matter of minutes before Derek gives into the pull of pack cuddles. A book thumps down onto the coffee table and Derek shuffles up the stairs. He unceremoniously throws himself onto Stiles, who nearly gets the wind knocked out of him by Derek’s elbow. “Lose some weight, fatty.” The pack falls quiet and Stiles tries to remember the last time they had a cuddle-fest like this. It’s never been every single member before. Mostly just Stiles and Scott, maybe Kira, Liam if he was there. Derek and Malia usually kept their distance for whatever reason. Lydia nearly always laughed off the notion of even potentially messing up her hair. “Thank you for this, guys.” The pack’s answer is to just snuggle in closer and soon Stiles finds himself relaxing enough to fall asleep.

 

Stiles has developed a habit of avoiding the mirror when changing or taking showers. He knows that everyone comes home with scars, some more visible than others, but he can’t stand the sight of the marks along his torso and arms. Stiles had pretty good self-confidence when he was promoted to a training officer at the academy. He had been happy with how he looked. His chest and arms had filled out and he no longer looked like a gangly teenager that couldn’t control his limbs. While overseas, Stiles lost some weight and muscle, but Derek seems pretty bent on killing him through insane werewolf workouts. Seriously, even boot camp wasn’t this bad.

So, yeah, Stiles is getting his muscle definition back. And he’s really happy that he can fit into his t-shirts again, don’t get him wrong, but his skin isn’t smooth anymore. There are bullet wounds and cuts from knives and that u-shaped burn from when his captors tried to brand answers out of him (don’t worry, Stiles never gave up a single word).

This is one of the rare times that Stiles stares in a mirror long enough to even consider what he looks like. He’s just finished showering after Derek’s version of circuit training (aka torture exercises with running in between). There is a towel around his waist, covering one of the worst scars along his hip. But there are so many others that Stiles just glares at his reflection and wishes they would go away. He figures he has wallowed in his misery for long enough and goes to get dressed. Derek is sitting on his bed, holding a picture frame in his hands. On instinct, Stiles crosses his arms, hiding most of his scars.

“What ya got there, big guy?” Stiles hopes that Derek doesn’t pick up on the way he is inching around the room, careful to keep his back to the wall. There are some stories Stiles just isn’t willing to tell yet. Derek continues to stare at the frame and Stiles takes the opportunity to tug on a shirt and some sweats. “Derek?”

“Tell me about them.” Derek shows him the picture and it’s of Stiles’ team, all laughing. Tears scratch at the back of Stiles’ throat. He swallows a few times and moves to sit next to Derek.

“I told you about Mac and Dennis right? They were the tech guys. I’m pretty sure the whole team knew they were sleeping together. They really thought they were sneaky about it. This here is Boots. He mostly just cleaned the guns. No one ever asked him to, he just did it. We all had our ways of coping; that must have been his. He actually kind of reminded me of you. Strong, silent type.” Derek elbows him in the ribs. “That is Terry, our medic. Funniest guy you’ll ever meet. He could make any mission better by telling some joke or making fun of the general. He’d help lighten everything up after the really hard days. Made it a little easier on us all. Jake was the explosives guy. He was always pretty quiet, but he was wicked smart. Like, could rival Lydia. Don’t tell her I said that… I told you about Skip. He was the one that stepped in when I fucked up. He was the one that they wanted to trade for me… I should’ve known that they wouldn’t let him live.” Stiles takes a shaky breath, forces the memories away. “This one here is Chase. He’s the asshole that thought I stole his girl and did everything possible to undermine me the first six months. Eventually we worked out our shit and he was actually a pretty sound guy. Real loyal. He’d stick his neck out for just about anyone.” Stiles takes the picture from Derek and runs his fingers over each face. He wonders how many of them got to go home and see their families. Wonders how many died trying to find him.

“Tell me about Jessie.”

“I can’t. Not right now… One day I will though. Promise.”

 

“So when were you gonna tell me that you and Derek are dating?” Stiles chokes on his coffee and swears he feels a little come out his nose.

“Excuse me?” Lydia is drumming her fingernails on the countertop and looking impatient.

“Don’t play stupid. I know you guys have a thing.” She looks extremely proud of herself.

“We aren’t together, lyds. Yeah, I live with the guy, but so did Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. No one ever accused him of dating them.” Stiles attempts to wipe up the coffee spilled across the table and if it’s only to focus on something other than Lydia’s scrutinizing gaze, no one needs to know.

“So then explain why the bed downstairs is never slept in. Explain why you touch each other like you’ve been together for years. Explain why Derek knows when you’re upset before even you do. Explain why…”

“Lydia, stop. We aren’t dating. Our relationship isn’t like that. I moved to the loft because being alone at night is fucking awful when you have as many nightmares as I do. He’s a born wolf so he picks up on things that even Scott doesn’t recognize. And how do you know if the bed downstairs has been slept in or not?” Lydia just makes her ‘you’re lying to me and you’ll pay for it’ face. If Stiles were actually lying, he’d probably be more than terrified of that look. “Lyds, you really think that if I was dating Derek that I’d keep it a secret? The last person I dated was Malia. I think I’d be pretty ecstatic if I were getting any action whatsoever.” Lydia rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know if I believe you, but I’m going to let it go. Not before I ask you one thing, though.” Stiles groans and doesn’t even try to imagine what she is about to ask. “Do you want to date him?” The question surprises Stiles because he actually begins to think about it. What would it be like to be with Derek? They would do pretty much what they do now. Sit and watch movies, nap, read books, cook together, sleep in the same bed. All of that would stay the same, but there would be the added bonus of kissing and sex. Now that Stiles thinks about it, that sounds like a pretty sweet deal. “I knew it.”

“Shut up, Lydia.”

“You love me.”

“Forever and always.” Lydia seems satisfied with his silent admission and goes back to sipping at her hard cider. _When in the hell did I get feelings for Derek freaking Hale?_ “Oh, now it’s my turn. How are you and Jordon doing?” Lydia blushes a color that makes Stiles remember why he thought he was in love with her all those years ago. She tucks her head and grins widely. Stiles doesn’t remember ever seeing her this happy and it makes his heart thump happily in his chest. “How long has it been?”

“Going on two years… I don’t know what it is about him, but he isn’t just a distraction like the rest of them. Jackson was a social obligation. I loved him, I really did, but we were together because we had to be. It was what was expected of us. Aiden was a distraction from all of the awful shit that was going on then. I was fond of him, but I don’t think I ever actually had feelings for him. He was attractive, good in bed. What more does a high school girl need?” Lydia finishes bitterly. Stiles cringes from the memory of Ethan howling for the loss of his brother, of Lydia clinging to him like a lifeline. “But Jordon… I don’t know… I find myself wondering sometimes how I got so lucky. You know? How does someone like him look at me the way he does?” Her eyes glaze over and Stiles thinks briefly that she might be spending too much time with Scott and Kira.

“You deserve to be happy, Lyds. It’s clear he loves you more than anything. And I am sooo being your man of honor at your wedding. Everyone else can shove it.” Lydia laughs and smacks Stiles upside the head.

“How do you know I even want to get married?” She has a mischievous glint in her eye that Stiles has learned to fear over the years.

“I’ve seen your secret Pinterest board about weddings. Kira always shows posts to me and coos over how amazing your sense of style is. I’ll make sure the ring is huge.” Lydia flicks her bottle cap and dissolves into a fit of laughter when it thumps Stiles on the forehead. The front door rolling open sounds over her laughter and Stiles ignores the urge to jump up and run to Derek. _Goddamn it. Lydia is right. She’s always right._

“Oh, Derek. Just the person I wanted to see. You and Stiles need to have an important conversation.” Stiles hisses her name, but she just plants a wet kiss on his cheek and waltzes out of the room. “Call me later, Stiles. I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.” Stiles hopes she doesn’t catch the snarky ‘yes ma’am’ that falls from his mouth before he can stop it.

“What was that about?” Derek grabs a beer from the fridge and sits next to Stiles on the stool Lydia just vacated. “What did you need to talk to me about?” Stiles is two seconds away from saying ‘nothing’ and running away, but Derek’s eyes are searching his face, clearly looking for something wrong. “Are you okay?” This is so weird. How did they go from basically hating each other to living together and acting like a couple without meaning to? What is Stiles’ life? Derek’s eyes are doing the thing where they can’t decide what color to be. They are a mix of blues and greens with a hint of brown around the pupil. Those ridiculous eyebrows of his are drawn together with concern and Stiles wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth them out. And since when does he have urges like that? Oh god… “Stiles… Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Uh yeah, everything is great… Why?” Derek gives him a quizzical look that Stiles reads as ‘yeah right, just spit it out’. Oh Jesus, this is pathetic. Out with it Stilinksi, out with it. “About that conversation… Um… Lydia kind of thinks we are dating.” Stiles scrunches his eyes shut and waits for the storm, but it doesn’t come. Derek stays quiet, but Stiles can tell he hasn’t moved away.

“Really?” Stiles peaks an eye open and Derek is just sitting there, looking slightly confused. “Why would she… No, I guess it kind of makes sense…”

“Whoa, what? Why does it make sense?”

“Well, I mean, I can see how someone on the outside looking in could think so… We live together. We sleep together. We go on dates. My wolf gets restless if you’re nearby and I’m not in contact with you… Wow… Stiles?”

“Yeah, big guy?”

“Are we dating?” Stiles chews on his thumb, tries to ignore the overwhelming urge to say yes. Because they aren’t dating. They are just good friends that spend a lot of time together. Wolves become easily upset without their pack. Friends comfort one another when they are having bad days. Friends go out to eat and go see movies. And holy shit. Stiles is dating Derek. What the actual fuck is going on with Stiles’ life? “I mean, you know… Of course we aren’t… That’s crazy… We are just good friends, right? We aren’t together… Clearly…” Okay, Derek rambling nervously? Officially the cutest thing ever. And Stiles would let it continue if he didn’t feel bad about how awkward Derek looks.

“Derek?” The wolf shuts up and looks at him, eyes wide. “Do you want us to be dating?” That wasn’t what Stiles was going to say. He was going to say that they should probably inform the pack that they, in fact, are not dating. He was going to say that Derek is his friend and that he doesn’t want to mess their relationship up. What the hell, brain? Derek swallows, blinks a few times. Stiles can tell that he is breathing a little harder than usual.

“Do you?” Stiles bites back the ‘I asked you first’ that wells up in his throat. He takes a deep breath, hopes his scent doesn’t betray him, and nods. He tucks his head, waits for Derek to laugh. Or get up and walk away. Or ask Stiles what the hell he is thinking. What Stiles doesn’t expect is a tentative hand to touch his chin, raise it until he is forced to look at Derek. The hand moves to slide along his jaw and Stiles can’t help but lean into it. “Me too…” The words are so quiet that Stiles barely catches them. The two syllables are enough to send his body into action of its own accord. His arms fling around Derek’s neck and the man lets out a little ‘oomph’ noise that Stiles finds adorable. Apparently, he just finds Derek adorable. The angle is completely wrong at first. Stiles is smiling far too wide for the kiss to actually be any good. Derek is smiling too, though, so Stiles can’t find it in himself to care. At all. After a moment, they work out the angle and Stiles sees stars behind his eyes. Stiles figured the kiss would be biting and rough and heated, but it’s the opposite. It’s sweet and slow and Stiles’ insides are melting from the way Derek is carding his fingers gently through the hair at the back of his neck.

“Derek?” Stiles pulls back, trying to catch his breath. His efforts are defeated when Derek’s mouth moves immediately to his neck, that scruff rubbing deliciously across his skin. Derek’s hands are snaking under Stiles’ t-shirt and that is when Stiles starts to squirm. Under his t-shirt are the scars he has tried so hard to hide from everyone. The scars that remind him of everything that has happened. For some reason, at the moment, words are evading Stiles. He doesn’t know how to tell Derek no. So he just settles for grabbing his shirt and shoving it back down, recovering the exposed skin. Those hazel eyes move to search his. Derek is clearly catching on that he isn’t entirely comfortable with the situation. He takes a step back and Stiles immediately wants the wolf’s body heat back.

“Stiles… What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing.” Derek is still searching his face and the scrutiny makes Stiles skin crawl just slightly.

“I’m sorry… I just… It’s been a long time since I was with someone and I don’t know if I am ready for what was about to happen just yet. There are a lot of things in my head that I need to work through first. But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep kissing you.” Derek gets this soft little smile on his face and it is Stiles’ new mission to see that smile as often as he can.

 

Stiles wakes up to a face full of dark fur and lets out a surprised yelp at finding a large wolf curled around him. The wolf simply snuffles and curls up tighter. _Wolf Derek, huh? Interesting._ From his breathing pattern, Stiles can tell Derek isn’t actually sleeping, only pretending. He cards his fingers through the fur behind Derek’s right ear, earning a low growl.

“Are you just going to hide from me all day or get up and make me breakfast like a good boyfriend?” Stiles blinks and human Derek has him pinned to the mattress. Stiles kisses him hard and realizes that Derek is very very naked. A blush rushes over his face and he can’t make eye contact with Derek. For god’s sake, he is twenty three. How is nakedness still making him this fucking nervous? Okay, so the only person he’s actually seen naked outside of the locker rooms is Malia, but Stiles knows what dicks look like. He watched porn like any other normal single teenage boy. So why is it that when faced with this Greek god, Stiles is reduced to an awkward teenager once again? Stiles is brought out of his sad reverie by Derek nuzzling into his neck. “Uh, breakfast?” Derek seems to clue into the situation and quickly rolls away to grab a pair of boxers from the floor.

“I think I have eggs and bacon. Sound good?” Stiles doesn’t miss the way the tips of Derek’s ears turn red as he scratches nervously at the back of his neck. It makes Stiles want to kiss him that much more. Derek disappears into the kitchen and Stiles stays to enjoy the warm sheets for just a little longer. He doesn’t realize he is falling back asleep until his phone startles him from the night stand. Stiles knows who’s calling without even looking at the screen.

“Yes, my queen?”

“ _Don’t sass me, Stiles. Did you and the big idiot talk your shit out?”_

“Yes, Lydia, we talked. Okay, we didn’t really talk all that much, but we said what needed to be said and it’s all resolved now. So, have a good day, Lyds.” Stiles hangs up on her yelling into the phone and flops back onto the pillow. A smile so big it almost hurts works its way into Stiles’ features. There is actually someone in the world that takes Stiles for who he is. Not who he used to be or who they think he is. Derek knows some, but not all, of the seriously fucked up shit Stiles did while away and yet he still looks at Stiles like he gave Derek the damn moon. How has Stiles not realized it until now? “Derek?” There is some shuffling from the kitchen and Derek comes wandering in with two plates filled with the promised eggs, bacon, and toast.

“You fell back asleep, didn’t you?” Stiles lets out an indignant ‘no’ and snatches the plate from the wolf’s hands. Stiles ignores the way Derek makes sure that he is enjoying his food before starting in on his own plate and the butterflies that ensue. God, Stiles is so gone on this idiot. How did that even happen? “It sounded like you were talking to someone a minute ago.”

“It was just Lydia, confirming that she was, yet again, right about everything.” Derek seems to take that as a valid reason for Lydia to be calling at 8:30 in the morning and goes back to eating his toast. “Hey, when we are done with breakfast, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Derek gives him that soft smile from last night and Stiles’ insides turn to mush. They finish breakfast in silence, both consumed in their own thoughts. When Stiles is done, he sets his plate on the nightstand and turns toward Derek. The man follows him, setting his plate down and facing him. Derek’s fingers tangle with Stiles’ and his thumb moves to rub little circles into the inside of Stiles’ wrist. “Okay… It’s less me wanting to talk about something and more of me wanting to show you something…” Derek’s eyebrows furrow in their familiar way and this time, when Stiles has the urge to smooth them out, he lets his hand do it. He has to remind himself that he is allowed to touch now. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I never take my shirt off anymore… not around other people, not even around you. There’s a reason for that…” Stiles takes a deep breath and with shaking hands, peels his t-shirt off quickly before he can change his mind and run away. He scrunches his eyes shut yet again, waiting for the rejection he is sure will come.

All Stiles hears from Derek is a quick intake of breath. It doesn’t sound disgusted, only surprised. Tentative fingers move over his largest scar, the one along his right side. It’s right between two ribs, six inches long. Those fuckers had decided that dissecting him like a science project would get more out of him than just screams of pain (hint: it didn’t). Derek’s fingers move to the round bullet wound below the juncture of his left shoulder. That’s the bullet he took for Chase the first month he was on tour. Sure, he didn’t like or trust the kid, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to die… The fingers move to the u-shaped burn right above his heart and stay there. Stiles knows Derek wants to ask, but he isn’t sure if he’s ready to tell just yet. Stiles finally opens his eyes and Derek looks like he is about to cry. Stiles has only seen the expression once and that was when Boyd was dying in his hands on the living room floor all those years ago.

“Derek, please don’t look at me like that… I don’t need pity…” Derek’s eyes turn angry and flash blue for a second. Stiles tries not to flinch at the growl, he really does.

“Don’t mistake empathy for pity…” Then Derek is pulling him into a bone-crushing hug and smooshing his face into Stiles’ neck like he is never going to see him again. “I am so sorry this happened to you. How could they even think that this is okay?” Stiles can feel the other man shaking around him and knows it’s from anger, not fear like Stiles is so used to.

“It wasn’t all them. Some of them were accidents. Like the one on my shoulder. I took a bullet for my team and I wouldn’t change my decision to do so even if I could. I was protecting them, doing my job. This one here?” Stiles pulls away from Derek and points to a small line right above his belly button. “Simple knife fight that got a little out of hand.” Derek doesn’t look comforted.

“Which ones are from them?” Stiles takes Derek’s hand and shows him the ones he’s already found and the others that haven’t been seen yet. Derek’s eyes flash blue again when they get to the one on Stiles’ hip. Stiles remembers this one, relives it most nights. “Can you tell me about any of them?”

“You always ask me what I have nightmares about. There are three reoccurring ones. This is one of them.” Stiles points to his hip, runs his fingers over the raised mark and presses in. He still feels the pain of the hot blade slicing through his skin. “It was a few hours before I was found actually… Which was probably good or I would have bled out. I think they got sick of me and just wanted to end it. They got tired of me not giving them anything. To be honest, I am still surprised that I lived as long as I did…” Derek’s hand tightens where it’s linked with Stiles’. “They just kept asking me the same questions over and over… Questions I didn’t have answers for. I hated it because they knew I didn’t have what they wanted, but they kept fucking asking me anyway; kept digging their fucking blades into my skin. You have to be a sick fuck to cut somebody up like they did me… I mean, I can be a kinky bastard, but those fuckers enjoyed watching me in pain. They smiled and laughed at the stupid American who thought he could hold out. Who thought that his team would find him before anything bad happened. But no one is ever that lucky. No, in war, you are only lucky if someone wants you to be.” Stiles feels like he is going to throw up, the smells of that fucking shack coming back full force. The smell of blood, death, dirt. It burns his nose even now.

Derek is looking at him with sad eyes and something in Stiles breaks. Something snaps and every ounce of anger and sorrow and fear come rushing out all at once. He yells. He yells for his team that put their lives on the line for him when he had no right to ask them to. He yells for all of the other nameless soldiers that never made it home to their families. He yells for those bastards that ran him through for their own entertainment. He yells and yells and yells. He yells until he can’t anymore. He yells until he cries and Derek just holds him and stays quiet. Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair and keeps an arm tightly around his waist. Stiles doesn’t understand how Derek is still there when he is reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess. Doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone caring about him as deeply as Derek appears to. Doesn’t understand why he is here in the arms of someone he loves while his team is most likely in the ground somewhere. Good old survivor’s guilt; you can always count on it to make you feel like shit every waking moment of your life.

“I’m sorry… I never lose it like that…” Derek doesn’t pull away, keeps Stiles pulled tightly against him.

“Sometimes you need to lose it. Sometimes you need to let it all out in order to start letting go.” Stiles clings to Derek as they both fall quiet. Derek pulls him down onto the pillows and wraps himself around Stiles like he can protect him from the world. Stiles doesn’t point out that the things he needs protecting from are inside his head, not out in the world. After a few minutes, when Stiles’ heart rate is finally back to normal, Derek speaks. “I have an idea. I’ve talked to your dad and Jordon about it and they think it could be good.” Stiles isn’t sure what they are planning, but Derek sounds so apprehensive and Stiles knows he is only trying to help. “When Jordon got back, he was really closed off. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just himself down and had a really hard time coping with all of it. It was a struggle for Jordon to get back into his life. So he found someone to talk to about it. A professional…” Stiles fights back the thoughts that he doesn’t need help, that he is stronger than that, and listens to Derek. “Do you think maybe that might help you, too? You aren’t the same as when you left. I didn’t expect you to be, but this new you is kind of scaring me. You said it yourself; you always talk through your problems. Lately, you have just been so quiet. I feel like I am the only one you are comfortable talking to. And I see how sad it makes Scott and your dad. They try to hide it, but I know that look. The look of wanting so badly to help, but having no idea how to.” Derek knows that is a surefire way to get Stiles to do what he wants; bring his dad or Scott into it. The bastard.

“Think Jordon could get me the number of who he talked to?” Derek’s face lights up and Stiles knows it’s because he is happy to help Stiles with whatever emotional turmoil he is going through. Stiles fleetingly wonders when the hard ass, bossy alpha got replaced with this amazingly caring, squishy teddy bear. When did Derek go from being the weird, creepy guy who lurked in his old burned down house in the preserve and yelled at stupid sixteen year olds for being on his property to this guy who is holding Stiles hand and looking at him like he would lasso the moon if Stiles asked him to? Oh god, Stiles is _such a sap_. He is _doomed_ and Scott is gonna give him so much shit for being as romantic as his best buddy is with Kira. GROSS.

 

“So how have you been, Stiles?” Charlie smiles at him in the same reassuring way he always does. “How’s life going?”

“I feel really good today. Most days are good days for me. Every once in awhile I get stuck and have a really low day, but Derek knows how to help me and get me out of the funk so I don’t dwell too long. I still have nightmares, but I have better control of them. I actually feel in control of my life again.” Stiles scratches at the back of his neck. When Derek first brought up seeing a psychologist, Stiles was unsure. Asking for help made him feel weak and vulnerable, but after talking to Charlie for fifteen minutes, Stiles felt better than he had in weeks. At first, Stiles was in the squishy chair in Charlie’s office three times a week. Now it has dropped down to twice a month. Stiles still makes extra appointments when things get particularly hard.

“That’s very good. Have you considered what we spoke about last time?”

“Uh, yeah I have. I am actually driving down this weekend to meet with an advisor at Berkley to see what kind of programs they have for vets. I don’t know if forensics is still what I want to do, but I am starting to explore my options again.” Charlie smiles widely and Stiles thinks, not for the first time, that he would really like to grab a beer with him were it not for the weird doctor-patient confidentially stuff.

“I am very glad to hear that.” They talk about Stiles life. About the road trip he and Derek have been planning. About Jessie. About the nightmares. About the guilt that still threatens to crush Stiles every once in awhile. “You have made immense progress in the past year. You should be proud. It is good to see soldiers come to terms with things that are outside of their control. I understand how hard it can be to accept the fact that it wasn’t your fault, but you have found a way to fix all of that in your mind. You seem so much happier with your life and your choices than you did when you came to me a year ago.”

Stiles really is happy. It took him months to realize that no matter what he could have done, he would have lost parts of his team regardless. You can’t keep everyone safe. He has had numerous conversations with Derek in bed about the guilt of being responsible for people who didn’t make it out. Usually, Derek holds it together, but there have been a few nights where he completely loses it and Stiles just wraps around him and plays with his hair until the wolf drifts to sleep. “Well, it looks like our time is up. I will see you in a few weeks.” Charlie takes off his glasses and flips his notebook shut.

“Thank you, again, Charlie. You’re the best.” Stiles shakes his hand and walks out of the office. Roscoe waits for him out in the parking lot and he heads to the loft.

 

When the loft door rolls open, the smell of something delicious invades Stiles senses. This has become a regular thing. Stiles comes home from an appointment with Charlie and Derek is making some amazing dinner for him. Derek understands how emotionally draining the appointments can be and is always ready to feed Stiles and watch a bunch of Netflix.

“That smells amazing, babe. You are too good to me.” Stiles wraps his arms tightly around Derek’s waist, who is standing at the stove, and hooks his chin over the man’s shoulder. “What are you making?”

“Chicken fettuccini alfredo.” Stiles groans loudly and plants a wet kiss on Derek’s neck, making the man squirm. “There is garlic bread in the oven.”

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Derek just smirks and throws an oven mitt at Stiles head.

“Only every day, you dork.” Stiles tries to look indignant, but he is pretty sure that he is just grinning like an idiot. “And I love you, too.”

“Sap.”

“Do you want dinner or not? Because I will take this into our room and lock you out. Eat all the garlic bread myself.” Derek has a dangerous glint in his eye and Stiles recognizes a challenge when he sees one.

“Bring it on, sourwolf.” Derek growls loudly and Stiles tries to fight the wave of arousal, he really does, but Derek knows what that growl does to Stiles. He is using his wolfiness to his advantage, as usual. “Uh… Maybe we can share?” One of those ridiculous eyebrows rises in question. “Yes, we can definitely share. I’ll even give you my extra chicken. And let you have the last piece of garlic bread. And I’ll do the dishes…” Derek just grins. _Dick_. He lurches forward and Stiles yelps loudly, dropping the oven mitt and sprinting out of the kitchen, knowing there is a very horny werewolf right on his tail (ha, tail…). Stiles is proud that he makes it halfway up the spiral staircase before Derek is hauling him over his shoulder and nipping at the outside of his thigh. Stiles lets out a manly squeak and swats at Derek’s butt. What? It’s the only thing in hitting range.

“Are you going to behave or do I have to tie you up?” A slight wave of fear rolls through Stiles and Derek immediately sets him down on the bed and is searching his face. “I’m sorry. What did I say? What did I do?”

“The tying up thing…”

“Oh god… I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that… I just got a little carried away. I’m sorry…” This is another thing that Stiles has had to get used to with Derek. Kink negotiation. Their first few conversations about what they liked were painfully awkward. Derek mostly just muttered things Stiles could barely hear and turned bright red. He had actually gone into a nervous coughing fit when Stiles had asked him if he was into rimming. Stiles was pretty sure that reaction meant yes. Stiles now _knows_ it meant yes. Stiles had to tell Derek that he can’t be held down or tied up. He has to have use of his hands at all times. Being told he can’t touch until Derek tells him to, however? Oh, Stiles is _so_ into that.

The first time Derek growled the command in his ear, Stiles had to shut his eyes and breathe for a few seconds so he didn’t go off right then. Derek had gone down on him and when Stiles accidentally treaded his fingers in Derek’s hair, the wolf had literally walked out of the room. Stiles had cursed like a sailor for the thirty seconds he was alone. When Derek returned he asked if Stiles was going to behave and Stiles found himself nodding furiously without even thinking about it.

Another discussion they had was about things Derek wasn’t comfortable with. Stiles remembers very well how scared and ashamed Derek had looked when he told him that he didn’t want Stiles to ride him, ever. He couldn’t get Derek to tell him why, but he figured it was some control issue left from his time with Kate. The bitch. Twelve years later and that psycho still has a hold on Derek. Stiles will never forget the night that Derek had asked him if he wanted to ride Derek. Stiles had been on his stomach with three of Derek’s fingers up his ass and he accidentally smacked Derek in the face in his haste to turn over and face his partner. Stiles still catches the brief fear flit across Derek’s face every time Stiles straddles his hips, but it dissolves almost as quickly as it forms.

“Stiles… Where did you drift off to?” Derek is running his knuckles up and down Stiles thigh, looking confused.

“Sorry… I was just thinking about the first time you let me ride you…” Derek’s face and neck turn bright red and Stiles has no control over his urge to kiss that stupid look off his face. Derek smiles into the kiss and pushes Stiles into the mattress. “Oh shit! The bread is still in the oven! It’s gonna burn! Go get it!” Derek huffs loudly, but does as Stiles asks. “Oh and grab the lube from where we left it under the couch cushions this morning.” The tips of Derek’s ears turn red and it still surprises Stiles how embarrassed he still gets about their sex life. With the stuff they do, you’d think Derek would be the most comfortable person in the world… But nope, he is as awkward about sex. Stiles has to admit, though, there have been a few nights where they both just sat and stared at the ceiling, slightly out of breath and embarrassed by the kinky sex they just had.

“Stiles, I can’t find it!”

“Well, where did you throw it? You had it last!”

“No I didn’t! You did! You had it when you, uh, did that thing…”

“You mean had three fingers up your ass?” Stiles can feel the eye roll even from upstairs.

“Yes, Stiles, that.”

“Hmmm, yeah you’re right. Did you check under the couch? I think it might have gotten knocked under there when we ended up on the floor.” Stiles hears the little triumphant ‘ah-ha’ that Derek lets out. “Don’t forget the bread!”

“It’s already out, Stiles.”

“Good. Now get your sexy ass up here and ravish me!”

“Oh my god, Stiles…”

“You love me!”

“Unfortunately…” Derek wanders into the room and Stiles just smiles at the dumb idiot he loves so much. Embarrassing Derek has become Stiles favorite pastime. Especially in front of Scott, because then they both get flustered and red. It’s adorable. Oh jeeze, no thinking about Scott during sex, Stiles. No. That is awkward on so many levels.

 

“Do you want to talk about your session with Charlie?” Stiles appreciates that Derek always makes a point to ask if he wants to talk about his sessions and doesn’t put up a fuss if Stiles says no. “You seemed like you were in a really good mood when you came home.”

“I’m in a really good mood now,” mutters Stiles from where his face is smooshed in Derek’s neck. “And sure. We talked about a lot of stuff. Our road trip, my plans to talk to an advisor at Berkley about starting there next year. The usual stuff… We talked about Jessie for a good while today.” Stiles doesn’t think it matters how much time passes, there will always be an empty guilt in his chest when he thinks about the girl that died in his hands. Derek’s hand tightens where it’s resting on his ribs. “I talked to her mom yesterday. She sounds good, happy.”

Three months after Stiles got home, he received a call from an unknown number. He had sent it to voicemail, thinking that it was probably a wrong number. When a voicemail popped up, he had been driving to meet Derek for lunch after a session with Charlie. Stiles had just hit play, not thinking it was anything of significance. The voice sounded so unsure when it asked for a Captain Stilinksi. Later, Stiles was thankful he had been on a vacant road because he slammed on the brakes so hard he is still sure he gave himself whiplash. He had scrambled to call the number back and when Jessie’s mother answered, they spent the first ten minutes of the call sobbing into the phone. Now it has become a weekly think for one of them to call the other. It’s their way of checking up on each other now that Jessie can’t. She had even invited him to the ceremony in New York that would honor Jessie’s death. The trip would be paid for since Stiles was her commanding offer. Derek had offered to go with him, but Stiles didn’t think he could have handled it. Still thinks he probably can’t.

“That’s really good.” Derek smiles into his hair. “I’m glad you have that. I know how hard it can be on you.” Stiles hugs Derek tighter, thanks his lucky stars he gets to have someone who looks at him and cares about him the way Derek does. Derek ignores all the blood Stiles has on his hands, all the awful things he has done, all the lives he has ended, and loves him like he is the same person he was when they met in the woods so many years ago.

“I love you, Der.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who has stuck through this mess I tried to call a story. I hope you liked it. I worked really hard on this, but i am pretty sure that it still sucks. I'm not very good at writing, but I try my best. 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/offmyrocker95) and rant to me about Teen Wolf and Dylan O'Brien's face.


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